Ancient Power
by PurpleCreations
Summary: All havoc breaks loose over all the Earth as Italy, a once peaceful country, begins to change in ways that stupefy even himself. It seems something begins to grow from within him, thrusting the world into danger. No country is safe from the ancient power that resides within Italy's heart. Read the Youtube-born fanfiction and concede to the Power. Don't forget to post a review!
1. Part 1

A spray of tears noiselessly hit the ground behind him as Italy ran for his life, which was all he seemed to have anymore. But what good were tears now? They sizzled on the charred ground and quickly evaporated in the blazing heat of the flaming rubble around him. Running frantically, barely dodging the flames and the falling debris from above, Veneziano panicked as if he were a cowardly sheep.

_"Autare,"_ he spat out with the painful heaves of his frenzied breath, "Please, anyone! Is anyone alive?! Help me!"

His eyes, which were usually closed, were now wide open, his pupils tiny against the amber-brown of his fearful irises. His skin was abnormally pale white from the sheer terror of the moment. His throat was incredibly dry and his lungs burned with each damn breath. But he didn't care about those inconveniences. Italy continued to run as he had been for quite some time. He trembled, his heart swelling with agonizing fear. All that was on his mind was safety.

He stopped abruptly in his tracks, almost hitting the brick wall at the end of the hellish alley he had run down. A dead end. _"Dannazione!"_ he barked at the wall, and immediately collapsed to his knee as a wave of vertigo washed over him. His vision went black for a second or two, his entire body throbbing. When his sight slowly came back to him, although blurred with every pulse of his blood, he found himself staring down at the royal blue suit he wore oh so often. It was ripped in places, and stained everywhere with soot, and blood not only from himself but from others as well. Veneziano clutched his stomach as he felt it lurch with nausea. But he only managed to cough up a small amount of blood, as his stomach had been empty for quite a while.

He looked up to the sky, which seemed to be burning just as everything else was. It was asuch a horrific sight to see that poor boy, collapsed to his knees and clutching his middle, stained in blood from head to toe, pleading for someone to help him.

_The end of the world..._ he thought, not able to speak as his breath now came ungenerously to him, _It can't be happening..._ Italy now knew not where the ground was, for his severe dizziness had abducted his sense of direction. His eyes were half-closed, although he was not aware, and the long curl protruding from the left side of his soiled, light brown hair had been tangled up within itself. Italy's hands trembled, and as he looked down on them, he saw that they were covered in blood.

What had happened, exactly? Veneziano struggled to remember. He recalled the murderer, bathed in shadows. The other countries, who had seen its face, were now dead because of it. The murderer could not be touched, and as it seemed, nor could it be avoided. That is why Italy had run, desperately trying to escape the sure death this phantom brought.

"Am I the last one?" Italy breathed to himself, hearing now his own heartbeat, which seemed to be growing louder. "Are they all dead?" His pupils pulsed, dilating and contracting with every tremulous beat of his heart. "America is dead..." The horrifying image of America's blood-soaked body burned in his mind. "Japan is dead..." His friend's dying cries still echoed in his head. "Canada... Britain... Germany... France..." Italy's heart beat so violently now that he shook with every rush of blood through his body. The magnitude of his heartbeat increased more and more, and his breathing quickened still. "All my friends... Everyone... I am... The last..."

At that moment, Italy threw back his head, roaring to the sky with all his might. The power of his cry seemed to echo throughout the entire world. It rang through the falling city around him, and his heart seemed to burst. "I AM THE LAST!"

Italy's head then fell against his breast, and his vision flickered wildly. He wavered in his dizziness as the world was plunged into darkness. He saw images of his friends appearing and disappearing erratically around him, colors flashing through the pure blackness that had seemed to swallow him alive. He felt as if he were falling, yet his knees still detected solid ground- In an instant, that ground came up to hit his face.

Italy's amber-brown eyes opened slightly, having lost some of their light. He found himself lying motionlessly on his side, still engulfed in shadows, against the invisible ground. His chest heaved with each heavy breath, and he weakly rolled to his back, begging within himself for the pain both inside and outside of him to cease.

"The world belongs to me," a low voice rang out, "And you mortals seem to forget."

"What have I done...?" Italy said weakly, barely more than a whisper.

"It is what the rest of the world has done," the voice said as an ominous face appeared in the dark before him, a face that struck fear into Italy's soul and would have petrified him had he not been too weak to be afraid any longer.

"I did nothing..." Italy said, a small tear streaming down the side of his face, "But if I have done something... I didn't know... I swear..."

"Veneziano..." The specter said, grinning an awful, devilish grin, "It is far too late."

"I'm sorry!" Italy cried, "Please... Don't kill me..."

"Don't kill me," the specter mocked, "Is that all you ever say? You are weak, Veneziano... Weak, childish and cowardly. You surrender before you even begin to fight. You value your life over the life of a friend."

"No, I don't!" Italy cried.

"You offer them up as a sacrifice for yourself," the specter taunted.

"No!"

"Yes, Italy!" The face grinned demonically, its devilish body beginning to grow from the shadows. "You are nothing but a coward, and that is the reason none of your so-called friends really loved you!"

Italy was fatigued. Pain throbbed in his body. His lungs burned, his chest heaved, his legs seared with pain; but rage grew in Italy's heart. He was about to die. But he wouldn't die in vain. He wouldn't prove this murderer right. Veneziano loved his friends more than anything, and now he would do what it took to avenge their deaths.

His body shook now with rage rather than fatigue or panic. His fists clenched, and fire burned wildly in his wide eyes. He wavered, the bridge of his nose wrinkled in anger. He bared his teeth, fresh blood still dripping from the side of his face. His sanity was lost, and now Italy as well had a demonic air to him. The devil before him grinned evilly, an expression that would have normally sent him running. It did send Italy running, but this time, he ran toward this demon, roaring violently in his barbaric rage.

They clashed, and all at once, colors and pictures flashed through Italy's mind. He felt himself falling, deeper, deeper, until a great flash of white sent his eyelids flying open.

"Italy," a familiar, robust voice flowed out above him. Italy found himself, when his vision focused, staring up at two piercing blue eyes. His arms were limp beside him, as well as his legs. "Are you okay?"

Italy's eyes pulsed a few more times, and then finally stopped. He blinked, eyes half open. "Germany..." he stuttered weakly, just barely managing to curl his lips into a trembling smile. The light from the sun shone down on the both of them.

"You lost conciousness during training," Germany said as he held the limp Italy in his arms, "Let's get you home."

Italy placed a weak hand over his breast, listening to his own frightened heartbeat. He closed his eyes once again.

_"Vita..."_ he whispered to himself as Germany carried him away.


	2. Part 2

"What happened?" Japan's calm voice made its way to Italy's ears.

"I'm not entirely sure," Germany said with a puzzled look on his stern face, "He just suddenly went blank and collapsed while he was training. His eyes were slightly open and he was spasming all over. I was afraid he was suffering a heart attack."

Italy opened his eyes ever so slightly, groaning as a wave of fatigue overwhelmed his body. He wanted to speak, but the words would not travel up his throat, let alone out of his mouth. His larynx simply trembled as he choked his breath in and out of him. Italy's vision was blurring with his heartbeat again, and the room seemed to spin around him. He was freezing, although drenched with sweat, and his chest and belly heaved in and out with every convulsive breath.

Japan leaned down to him, pressing two fingers to his neck. "His pulse is panicked, but shows no sign of a cardiac problem."

"Then what could have happened?" Germany asked, "I would suggest a seizure, but he just seems more panicked than anything."

Japan thought. Then he looked down at Italy. "Italy, can you hear me?"

Italy tried his best to speak. But his vocal cords did not seem to synchronize with his breath. A small, terrified squeak came from his throat, but he could not manage to turn it into a word.

"Just nod if you can hear me, then," Japan said.

Veneziano tried to focus his vision, but only succeded in hurting his head even more than it already did. He managed to nod weakly.

"He is concious, at least," Japan said, looking to Germany hopefully.

Germany grunted, looking at the trembling boy before him. "Italy, did you take your medication?"

Italy blushed slightly; it wasn't a topic he normally enjoyed talking about. But he nodded.

"Huh," Japan said, "Well, at least that's not it... When he doesn't take his medication he hallucinates..."

Italy opened his eyes fully. "I... Was hallucinating..." he managed to choke out. Germany looked surprised.

"Italy, what the hell happened?" Germany asked.

Italy stuttered, his larynx riveting as he tried to speak. "I was running... Everything was spinning... T-the face... Its eyes..."

The two other Axis members looked, confused, at each other. Then, Germany looked down at Italy. "What face?"

Italy shuddered. He didn't want to remember the face he saw... Nor could he at all. All he could do was lie there in Germany's arms, trembling violently, whimpering quietly.

Germany brought Italy into his living room, lying him down on a couch. "Japan," he said, "Go get him a blanket and some water."

"Hai," Japan nodded, and went to do so.

Germany kneeled down to Veneziano's side. "Italy, calm down. Everything is alright."

Italy pulled his arms in, breathing into his hands to warm them. "Everyone... Was dead..."

"We're alive," Germany said, "None of it was real. Everyone is fine."

"I was... The last one... F-fire... Blood..."

"It's not real, Italy," Germany reassured him. "None of it is."

At that moment, Japan came back into the living room, holding a glass of chilled water and a blanket. Germany took the blanket from him, draping it over Italy. Japan then lowered the glass to Veneziano.

The frantic boy took the glass, gulping down mouthfuls of water. Italy may have been weak, but boy, was he thirsty. His body seemed to have been completely robbed of hydration from his intense sweating. He felt his stomach become cool as the water rushed into him faster than his throat could take. Seconds later, he held out the empty glass to Japan.

"You must have been thirsty..." Japan said, staring in surprise at the empty glass in his hand. Italy wiped his mouth, and then tucked himself under the blanket.

Germany thought. "Would it be possible that you could have suffered heat stroke?"

Italy didn't recall that day to be very hot. It was mid-spring, still considerably cool. But anything could have happened, really. "I don't know..." he said unsurely.

"That could have been it," Japan said.

Germany nodded. "Just rest up for today, Italy," he said. "Be sure to drink a lot of water."

Italy nodded. His body was beginning to calm down, although he was still jittery. His heartbeat began to slow, and his vision finally settled as he tried to relax. None of it was real. It couldn't be. He closed his eyes and tried to be calm.

"I'm going to do some work," Germany said, standing up. "Japan, keep a periodical eye on him. We don't want him siezing up again."

"Hai," Japan said with a nod. "I will watch over him."

_"Danke,"_ Germany said, and left the room, heading toward his office.

Japan looked down at Veneziano. He wondered exactly what had happened to the poor young man before him. It certainly was strange. This had happened without any warning, and seemingly without any reason. He knew Italy to be rather dramatic and pathetic, but he had never gone and done something like this before. Japan shook his head, not wanting to put too much thought into it. Knowing Italy, this couldn't have been anything too threatening. He turned and went back to what he had previously been doing.


	3. Part 3

"Ugh... I wonder why Germany's being such a big fat meanie-pants today...?" Italy peeped to himself as he walked along the low wooden fence outside Germany's house. He hoped he wouldn't be caught. It wasn't the first time he had gotten away from training, and he DIDN'T want it to be his last. He looked warily over his shoulder, watching for any sign of that mean Mr. Germany. He loved being his friend and all, but Italy was so terrified of him sometimes. The things he would do for discipline... He shuddered, not wanting to think about it.

To his delight, he heard something that took his mind off Germany's torture. It was a sound he hadn't heard since he joined the Axis Powers. The shrill and innocent sound of a tiny cat's meow from behind the fence. Veneziano turned his head in slight confusion. Was it really a cat?

"Huh?" he said to himself as he looked toward the fence, and to his surprise, a small, grey cat was sitting contentedly behind a fence post. "Oh, kitty kitty kitty!" Italy ran excitedly to the little cat. He picked her up; she was very soft. He hadn't seen a cat in years, he believed. "I found her here, so that must mean she's Germany's cat. Germany could learn about niceness and purring and tongue-baths from you!"

Filled with happiness and forgetting completely about Germany, he began rolling through the grass, hugging the cat closely to him. Italy didn't have any friends who quite understood him. They all tended to think he was weak and stupid. None of them really ever wanted to play with him or even be around him. Because of this, he resorted to playing with animals instead. Animals loved him, and they were the perfect friends. They didn't care what he was like, as long as he gave them love.

Italy rolled back the other way, but suddenly he was greeted with an excruciatingly painful blow to the right side of his face. It didn't take him long to realize that Germany's hard-soled boot was now cutting deep into his cheek. He froze up in pain, whimpering quietly to himself.

Germany's face, which now slightly resembled the enrsged face of the Devil, loomed above him, with his bare arms crossed over his chest. He could have stomped Italy's face in then and there, but he did not. With the voice of an angry executioner, he said, "You need to give that cat back to the land."

Italy's heart pounded with even more fear than before. "I love her!" He managed to squeal through his cries of pain.

The pain came all too quickly. In one swift motion, Italy was thrusted up, Germany holding his arms brutally behind his back.

"ACK!" Italy squealed, "Please, commander, stop! It feels like you're breaking my arm!" Then, the ground came up to hit him in the face, as he found himself lying limp. The cat had scurried a little length away.

Germany grunted, bending down to lend Italy a hand. Italy looked at him, trembling in fear. What was he going to do?

"Stand up," Germany said, flexing his outstretched hand.

Italy stared at the hand in front of him, and then took it, letting Germany pull him up. The cat happily leapt back into his arms. "I'm not letting her go... She's the only one who understands me..."

Germany rolled his icy blue eyes. "It doesn't understand you, Italy, it's a cat."

"Even so, she understands me better than you or Japan!" Italy barked up, but suddenly regretted it. He cowered, being sure to protect his beloved cat. "You two never play with me like she does. You never hug me or cuddle me like she does. She is full of innocence and love while you and Japan are full of cruelty and hate!"

Germany gritted his teeth. Italy was sure he was going to break out the whip, but he didn't feel the sharp sting on his back. He stole a glance back at Germany, and to his surprise, he was simply looking at him, not even with his angry expression.

"You really do care about that cat, don't you?" Germany said.

Italy was shocked. _Germany_ was saying this? He simply nodded.

Germany looked to the sky with an expression that said, "Why am I stuck with this idiot?" and sighed. "Fine, then. You can keep the cat if it will give you something to do without bothering us."

Veneziano could hardly believe his ears. "Seriously?" he cried in excitement, "Woohoo!"

Germany gritted his teeth again. "_Ja..._ Just... Take it elsewhere, okay? And get back to your training!"

Italy saluted him. "_Si!_" Anything for her! He began walking back to Germany's house, stroking his new pet, who was purring happily in his arms. "Now, what shall I call you, kitty? Hmm... I know! I'll call you Pookie. It's cute, and easy to remember! You look like a Pookie, too!"

Germany watched him ramble to the cat all the way back to the house. He sighed, putting a hand to his head in hopes of soothing his panging headache. "_Scheiße..._ Why does every second I spend with him only get worse? ...Get back here, Italy! Don't think I forgot about you skipping your training!" He changed his mind, and naturally ran after him. It didn't take long for the oncoming pain to ensue.

~~~

Italy's copper eyes oppened ever so slightly. He found himself in the light of Germany's living room, as he had been before he fell asleep. He was soaked, and it seemed he was soaked everywhere but his mouth. He had lost a lot of water in his sleep. His heart rate was back to normal, however, and the nausea in his stomach had been replaced with hunger. The boy tried to sit up, but immediately regretted it and was forced to lie back down, holding his head as a burst of throbbing pain nearly knocked him senseless.

"Ah," Japan's calming voice came from the kitchen, "I see you have awakened." Indeed it was Japan. The dark-haired, dark-eyed man stepped out from the kitchen and grinned at him.

"Japan..." Italy said, his voice raspy from his extremely dry throat.

"I'll get you some water," Japan said, beginning to walk back into the kitchen. "I assume you are dehydrated, guessing from the way your voice sounds."

"Water would be _perfetto,_" Italy said, "I'm very thirsty..." His ribs ached with dehydration.

Japan came back seconds later with a full glass of water, handing it to Italy and helping him to sit up slightly. Italy took the glass in his hand and began to gulp it down. Once again he felt his stomach grow icy as the water rushed into him. His body was refreshed, and he couldn't help but tense up in pleasure and relaxation. He watched the tiny droplets of condensation on the cold glass, growing ever so slowly and rolling down the icy surface, and then dissipating into the tiny ridges in his fingers as soon as contact was made with his skin. Never before had he loved water so much. He fought back the strange urge to kiss it, and instead, gulped more of it down his thirsty gullet.

Japan watched him drink. It was rather strange, and Italy thought so as well. He stared at the water, grinning as if he was a predator, the water his prey. It seemed almost as if he had an undying lust to get the water into him. Japan, in all his thousands of years alive, had never seen such behavior toward thirst.

Italy sighed and took a great breath of air when the glass was empty, as he had not stopped once between gulps to breathe. He then handed the glass back to Japan and reclined into the couch, stretching out his abdomen to let the water flow. Veneziano smiled, feeling so much better now that he had liquid in his system. His stomach sloshed quietly as the massive gulps of water rushed through. He opened his eyes to look around the room now, and yawned with a stretch of his arms, content.

"_Grazie,_ Japan," Veneziano said happily.

"..._Hai,_ you are welcome, " Japan said with a bow, and a perplexed look on his face.

It was then that Germany's footsteps came back into his living room. Italy looked up at the man towering over him. Germany returned the look with stern blue eyes.

"How are you feeling, Italy?" Germany said in his near-monotone voice.

"Ve... Much better..." Italy said with a sigh of relaxation.

"Good," Germany said, "Because we are having a world conference tonight... That slob, America, invited us at the last minute..."

"America _does_ seem to have the worst memory..." Japan added.

"Exactly," Germany said. "Japan, could you go get my laundry out of the dryer for me?"

"_Hai,_" Japan said with a slight bow, "Very well." He then left the room.

Germany kneeled to face Veneziano. "What exactly happened, Italy?"

Italy thought. "I don't know for sure... All I remember is having this vision - which was very realistic - of running down an alley... From what, I don't know... Flames everywhere... And then, this face in the shadows..." He quickly put a hand on his head as it panged with a sharp pain. "Agh, it hurts to think about it... I can't remember what it was..."

"Well," Germany said, "Everything is okay now. You're fine, and we'll be at the world conference in a few hours." He sighed. "If _only_ it would be fine there as well..."

Italy nodded. "I'll be alright for that, at least."

"_Ja,_" Germany said, "Well, at least we don't have to carpool my brother around... Ever since his re-unification last spring, he's been more annoying than ever..."

Italy nodded again. This time, he actually agreed. Prussia, ever since being re-unified in the spring of 2011 as the New Prussian Empire, had been more arrogant and loud-mouthed as ever. He would always brag to the others about how "awesome" he was, having been made a country not once, but twice. Though he was still only a micronation, he felt the need to rub it in everyone's face.

"Oh," Germany said, "Speaking of which, I finally got that spray-painted Prussian eagle off the wall outside the other day..."

"That's great!" Italy said, "Now I can start my painting of your house!"

Germany nodded briefly, avoiding eye contact. "Well, you should get ready now, as should I," he said, standing up. "Remember to dress nicely..."

"_Sissignore!_" Italy said, saluting, accidentally with his left hand. "I'll get to it."

"Please do," Germany said, holding out a hand.

Italy took his hand and was pulled up off the couch. He wavered at first, dizziness swaying within him. When he found his bearings, he shook his head and started off toward his room, Germany starting off toward his.

Veneziano made it to his room, but sat down on the side of his bed, out of breath. _Mamma mia... I don't have much energy..._ He placed a hand on his stomach. _That Japanese pasta gave me a boost, but its energy won't last long... It's gonna take me a while to recuperate..._ He lied down on his bed, breathing heavily and already beginning to sweat. _...Will I be okay for the meeting?_ he thought, _I just need to get through tonight... All I need is some rest... Hopefully..._


	4. Part 4

_Edit: Portugal and Quebec have been taken out of the story. Sorry about the changes, but I wanted to keep the story as canon as possible._

_-Purple_

* * *

It seemed all too soon that the dreaded World Conference came into play. As Germany's car came to a slow park with a metallic whine, Italy looked up, with the glazed look he had been wearing for the ride, at the gigantic stone building that looked threatening over them like a tremendous monster soon to swallow them up. Each member of the former Axis dreaded World Conferences each for a different reason.

Germany particularly hated these meetings for one reason: No one would get along. Just about every country there would end up bickering, most of the time for events of the past. If they weren't bickering, they would be making useless noise just for the sake of making useless noise. No one would shut up. Japan also hated conferences for a similar reason. He was always very patient and quiet during meetings, but because of all this noise and nonsense, he almost never got to speak his mind. All this stress worked him up so much that sometimes he would start to feel sick.

Italy, on the other hand, hated conferences for a much different reason. They were extremely, utterly, and painfully boring. Often times, Italy would find something to keep himself entertained, which was usually drawing, sometimes on his work papers. Italy loved to draw. He would draw all the time as a child, having been taught by his beloved grandfather, the Roman Empire. He rarely got to draw during the times of World Wars I and II, being confined as part of the Axis Powers with Germany and Japan. They were no longer officially known as the Axis Powers, but were still a close trio of friends… So close that he often still accidentally called them the Axis.

Anyway, Italy loved to draw during the World Conferences, but whenever he got absorbed in his magnificent sketches, Germany would always end up yelling at him to get back to work, sometimes hitting him sternly in the head with a stick. So either way, World Conferences were torture for poor Veneziano.

Germany sighed as he got out of his car and closed the door, looking at a large, red pickup truck parked next to them. The license plate, which read US1776, showed that it was from New York. Germany stared at it."How did he get his truck all the way across the ocean?"

"You never know with America…" Japan said.

"…Maybe he flew it over on one of his bald eagles?" Italy suggested.

Germany just stared at him. Then, he looked back at the truck and sighed. "You know, Italy, seeing how America is, I might actually believe you."

Italy smiled and chuckled briefly.

The three nations headed inside. It seemed as soon as they closed the door, Germany grimaced at the bottom of the stairs. Italy was about to ask him what was wrong, but then he understood, as he heard it, too. The sound of a chair falling over and possibly glass breaking made it clear what was going on. And then a scream of anger confirmed Italy's hypothesis. France and England were fighting… Again.

"It sounds like no one's helping them sort it out…" Germany said.

"No one ever does," Japan added.

"Well," Germany huffed, gripping the railing with his iron hands, "Then I guess I will have to do the honors."

Italy paled. After living with Germany for what seemed like hundreds of years, he knew what that foreshadowed.

Germany stormed, frustrated, up the stairs. Italy and Japan followed reluctantly after him. It only took a moment for Germany to bolt across the hallway, throw open the large, wooden meeting hall doors, and crab hold of two blonde mops of hair…

"For crying out loud, will you to STOP FIGHTING?!" the man's voice boomed throughout the conference building. Italy cowered behind Japan, who had just entered the doorway to the meeting hall.

All were silent, except for France and Britain, who were groaning under Germany's hold and still trying to get at each other, even with the enormous country holding them apart by the hair.

"You take that back about my father!" England said, "You know nothing about him!"

"Neither do you, tea loving bag of scones!" France barked.

"Well, he must have been a great man to have married the great Brittania!"

"SHUT UP!" Germany bellowed, "Both of you, for the last time, SHUT UUUP!"

Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced through Italy's head. An extremely high-pitched sound screeched through him as Germany bellowed. A flash of bright blue and white flickered in his eyes, which were tightly shut with the agony in his head. Little did he know it, but as his consciousness briefly flicked off and on, the peculiar curl of hair on the left side of his head seized up jagged, and then quickly straightened back out into a wide swirl as it had been before.

His eyes snapped open. Suddenly, he was fine, as if nothing had happened. …What _had_happened, anyway? Italy didn't even remember. Except for the bout of heavy breathing, he was in top shape. He looked at Germany again from behind Japan.

England and France were completely silent now. Germany went on. "You two are always fighting. You take off precious time that we could be using to solve current problems, instead of fighting nonsensically over problems that have already been resolved! Now, why don't you two just sit down und shut up, like you're supposed to?"

England scowled at France, his bright green eyes glaring into the deep blue of his enemy's. France returned to him an even nastier look. However, the two nations decided it was better to listen to Germany. "Right," England said, still glaring at France, "This is no time to bicker."

"Agreed," France said, "…With Germany."

"We'll be quiet," England said, sitting down in his usual meeting chair, "At least for the meeting." France also sat down in his own chair.

"_Danke,_" finally..." Germany said, sitting down in his own chair at the end of the table.

Italy and Japan also took their seats, Japan somewhere in the middle of the table, next to Switzerland, who was reluctantly helping his adopted little sister, Liechtenstein, with her dress.

Italy's seat was at the end of the table, opposite from Germany. On his left was his older brother, Romano, the southern half of Italy, seeing as Veneziano was the northern part, his name derived from Venice and Romano's derived from Rome.

Romano looked up at Italy as he sat down. He rolled his eyes. "You still live with that stupid potato-sucking moron?"

"Romano, be nice to your little brother," said Spain from the next seat over. He smiled at Italy.

"Germany isn't stupid…" Italy said, "He is tough and mean sometimes, but he is really a nice guy!"

"How?" Romano snapped with a kind of devious grin.

Italy opened his mouth to say something, but the words became lost. He swallowed them back down, trying to think of a way in which Germany showed his kindness. "He cares for me," Italy said, for lack of a better reason.

"Yeah, maybe a little too much," Romano huffed, "Listen, Veneziano, I don't want you getting too close with him—"

"Too close?" Italy questioned, "I've been living with him since World War I!"

"Veneziano!" Romano barked with the sharp pang of his fist on the table, "I'm warning you _fratello!_" That Nazi brings no good!"

"He's not-!"  
"_Veneziano!_"  
Suddenly, a loud _bang_erupted from right in front of Italy, which silenced the two. He slowly opened his eyes, which had been clenched shut, amidst his heavy breathing, to discover that the noise had in fact been his own hands driven into the surface of the table in pure rage and frustration. There was a silence as he looked at Romano and Spain, who were staring at him in shock. Others had taken the time to look up as well.

Italy didn't believe himself what he had just done. He had always been so peaceful, if not cowardly. This act of violence and anger was not him. He stared down in shock at his own hands, still pressed into the table. Wanting to turn back time and erase what he had done, he sunk slowly back in his chair.

"…Did I miss something?" A voice came from the doorway. The nations all looked up to see a smiling face under platinum-blonde hair and a thick white scarf. Some of them paled.

"…Nothing, Russia…" Germany said with a hand on his head and an aggravated expression on his face.

"Okay, then." Russia walked around the table with a carefree attitude, and the rest of the nations watched the huge country warily. When he sat down, the nations began to commerce again, except for Greece, who was sleeping in his chair. Romano stared at Italy once more, and then turned away as a loud voice rose over all the others.

"Alright, dudes," said a young man with blonde hair, blue eyes and glasses. "I think it's time for a role call!"

"_Mein Gott…_" Germany huffed under his breath.

"Since there are more countries than I can even count, I'll do this in groups so it doesn't take up all our conference time. Okay! So, are the Asians here?"

"_Hai,_Japan here," Japan said, raising his hand.

"China here," said China, with a slightly irritated look on his face, "And nice way of putting it…"

"Korea here," the two Koreas said at once, and then glared at each other.

"Taiwan here," Taiwan said with a grin.  
"India here, too!" said the tanned India with a smile.

"Russia is here too, and it's a nice day for a meeting, isn't it?" Russia smiled.

"Alright," the man said, "That's all the Asian countries I have signed up for today's meeting. Europe! You're up! Haha, get it? You're up? Europe?"

A groan ensued throughout the meeting hall.

"_Ja,_Germany here," Germany said, retaining his aggravated expression.

"Austria here," the music-loving Austria said daintily.

"Hungary as well," his ex-wife said from beside him.

"Yeah! The New Prussian Empire is here, of course, because I am awesome!" Blood-red eyes blazed under snow white hair, on which a small yellow bird was sitting.

"We get it," Germany said, "_Bruder,_you were re-unified last spring. You don't have to use your full name everywhere anymore."

"Well, it sounds more awesome that way!" Prussia said, grinning widely. Germany sighed.

"Britain here," England said, simply raising his hand.

"Onononon," France chuckled, with the response of Britain's head hitting the table. "_Oui,_France is here to add a bit of love to this dreary conference."

Another groan rang out.

"Switzerland here," said Switzerland, finally done fixing his sister's dress.

"And Liechtenstein too," she added.

"Ireland and Scotland are here, lad!" said Britain's red-headed brother, Ireland.

"Oi!" Scotland barked, "What makes you think you can call in for me, ya numpty? D'you think I'm verbally challenged ore somethin'?" England sighed.

"Sealand here!" said the now grown-up micronation. He smiled hopefully, wanting to be recognized. However, it was in vain, as he was interrupted.

"Spain here!" Spain said, raising his hand.

"South Italy…" Romano simply said.

"And North Italy!" Italy said anxiously, feeling very nervous. "Uh… Pasta?"

"And I brought the three Baltic States," Russia said with an eerie smile.

"Estonia…"

"Latvia…"

"And Lithuania, here…" The three Baltics said nervously.

A blonde-haired girl sporting a bow slowly rose up behind Russia. "Belarus here!" she cried, answered by a terrified scream from her brother.

"And Ukraine," Their… Big-chested sister said quickly.

The Netherlands sighed and turned around from where he had been staring out the window. "Netherlands here."

"Belgium as well," Belgium said as she twirled her hair. She nudged Poland sharply with her elbow. Poland sighed.

"Hold on a sec," he said into his cell phone, "Poland here. Alright, sorry about that. …She said what?"

Greece snorted awake when Romano threw a crumpled ball of paper at him. "Greece here."

"Okay," the man said, "That's all I have signed up… Nordics!"

"Sweden here," said Sweden, staring blankly at Finland.

"Finland here… Uh… Can someone do something about him? Plea-"

"Haha, Denmark here! That makes everything better," said the wild-haired Denmark, leaning back in his chair.

"And Norway," Norway said blankly.

"Okay! North and South America!"

"Mexico is here, mi amigo!" Mexico said with a wink.

"Canada here," Canada practically whispered, a hand on his now grown polar bear, Kumajiro's side. "Cuba couldn't make it."

"Okay, dudes! It looks like we're all set to start the meeting!" said the man. He powerfully pointed to himself, his leather bomber's jacket flaring out with his movements. "I'm America, as everyone knows! Hahaha! Now let's get this party started!"

Italy raked his fingers through his hair, stroking across his scalp and softly twirling his finger around the base of the odd curl of hair that stuck out from the left side of his head. His skull was still throbbing with pain, and he felt in his calf-conscious state the sensation of his blood pumping into each vein inside his body. He held his stomach as it churned slightly, a small trickling noise sounding from his belly, which he was glad was muffled by his shirt and jacket. Veneziano wore a glassy look in his eyes, staring at nothing in particular from his head's position, resting on his arm.

_What is happening to me?_ he thought. _Why does my head hurt? Why is my stomach churning? Why do I feel so… Angry?_ He gripped his sleeves with each arm, his limbs tensing. _Could it be that I'm just sick…? But I'm thousands of years old… And I've never felt anything like this before…_ He tried to think, way back into his memory. _Or… Have I?_


	5. Part 5

Japan walked the front door of Germany's house as usual, rubbing his head and praying for his migraine to go away. "Nothing was accomplished at that meeting, as usual…" he said in despair. "I don't even see the point in trying to have those meetings if no one ever pays attention anyway. Oh well… At least I'll be on my way home once I gather my things." He walked through the hallway toward his room, thinking silently to himself.

_So many things have happened since old times, _he thought, _And, come to think of it, those times aren't even that old. There are still a lot of my people who have been through World War II, and I bet there may even be more of America's people from that time, as well._ He sighed. _Back then, we were such enemies… I can't even believe how angry I made Mr. America when I bombed his precious Pearl Harbor. I remember that look of fury he had in his eyes… How those eyes as blue as the Great Lakes filled with fire as he charged at me… He had pinned me to the wall, gun drawn… Once my heart was exposed, I was sure I would be done for. He headed straight for it… _He shook his head. _I don't want to think about that anymore. America and I are great friends now. He even tries to adapt to my cultures. _He smiled. _I admire him for trying to, even though he almost never gets it right. _Japan winced and put a hand to his breast._ He did help me, though, with that wound in my chest I received recently… It would have been very hard to recover from it, had I been alone, without his help… It seems our relationship has completely turned around for the better… I thank him greatly for his help while I was recovering from that earthquake… Mr. America may be loud and obnoxious, but it surprises me how he would help me like that despite what I have done to him… _Japan smiled and chuckled once. He said quietly, "I guess we are all maturing and putting our grudges behind us."

He looked down at his feet, noticing that he had stopped for a moment in the hallway. The room Germany had set aside for him at the very end of World War I, when the Axis began to form, was down at the end of the hall, and that was where his things were. He just had to go gather them and pack them back up into his car, and then he'd be home from his visit to Germany's house. He couldn't wait to be back home, isolated in the tranquil Asian forests and hot springs of his islands, with occasional visits to the smoggy, intricate cities nearby.

Japan was just about to take another step forward, when he heard a strange noise coming from his right. He saw that there was a door there.

"…This is Italy's room," he said, "What… Was that noise?" Japan recalled that he was the only one in the house, so what could that sound have been?_ I should check, _he thought, and gripped the hilt of the katana he still had sheathed on his belt, as he had always kept it just in case of emergency. The others had put aside their weapons with the decreasing threat of war lately, but Japan kept his katana on him, no matter how long it had been since he had used it.

He put one hand on the doorknob, thinking out his strategy, and then quickly opened the door, katana drawn. However, his eyes widened in shock at what he saw. It was not an intruder, or even an animal; it was Italy, sitting there on his bed, facing away from Japan. He did not move when Japan opened the door.

Japan was confused. He vividly remembered Germany saying but a moment ago that he and Italy were going to stop at the market to buy some ingredients for dinner while Japan packed. The two of them had sped off in Germany's car, and Japan had walked in alone. So why was Italy sitting there in front of him, when he had just left?

Japan felt chills go down his spine. "I-Italy?" he stuttered.

Italy was silent and still at first, but then he slowly turned his head, his body completely still. His head turned almost like an owl's, were it not for the cracking sound of his neck snapping out of place. His eyes were closed as usual, but fear rose in Japan as Italy's eyes opened… Glowing not a coppery brown, but a deep, radiant, blood-red.

Japan felt his stomach lurch in fear and disgust, and he took a step back, frozen in sheer terror.

"What are you doing with that sword… Japan?" Italy said as he slowly stood up; his body turned to face Japan, now in the same direction as his head.

Japan was still frozen in fear, but he lifted his katana slightly, unsure whether or not to strike.

"…You wouldn't hurt me, Japan… Like all the others, would you?" Italy said. When he spoke, there seemed to be two voices coming out- his, and another, deeper voice. His voice was warped. Veneziano took a few slow steps toward Japan.

Japan was shaking now. As a reflex, he jumped slightly when Italy began to walk, and held his katana across his body, defending himself.

Italy stopped walking. His pupils were dilated, as Japan now saw, and the strange curl of hair that stuck out from the left side of his head was no longer smoothly rounded, but jagged in shape. The crazed smile on his face now drooped to a frown, and his eyes softened. There was a short pause.

Now, Italy had an entire change of heart. His eyebrows lowered in anger and his teeth gritted tightly. "You DO want to hurt me!"  
Japan panicked, and Italy did something he hadn't done for the longest time: Attack. Veneziano rocketed after him, his fist clashing into the flat side of Japan's blade. Japan stared in terror at the man before him, who just a moment ago had not been at fault for being enemies with any nations. Veneziano had been part of the European Union, the United Nations, and many other alliances and peacekeeping organizations. This supposedly peaceful country was now attacking him, staring with those blood-red eyes into his soul, striking fear into his core.

Japan tried his hardest to keep Italy from hurting him. That first blow had already sent him back a few steps, and he was now leaning back, one hand holding the katana's hilt, and the other up against the flat of the blade, the sword across his face and blocking Italy's fist from going any further.

Italy's teeth gritted still, and a deep growl resonated in his throat. Their faces were so close – only separated by the katana's thin blade – that Japan could smell a hint of garlic, probably from Italy's last meal, wafting from his delicate lips, those dainty Italian lips many girls had kissed over thousands of years of Italy's life. Veneziano's fist now unfurled, only to clasp the blade of the katana. Japan watched, stomach twisting, as Italy's fingers closed around the blade, blood dripping through the webbing between those fingers as the blade cut deep into his skin. Italy's blood poured over his hand without a wince of pain, staining his olive-tinted Italian skin a dark, merciless red. Veneziano, no matter how much blood spilled from his hand, did not take his savage eyes off Japan's ghost-white face. When his mangled hand was wrapped tightly around the katana's blade, his arm began to move, still not taking his eyes off the terrified man before him. His other hand, which was pressed against the hand of Japan's that was on the blade, began to push said blade forward. Italy slowly pulled the blade and bent it, then grabbing the handle with his wounded hand and snapping the katana in half. Lastly, he threw it to the side, taking his eyes off Japan for a mere second and then turning back to him with a beastly expression.

Japan looked at his beloved sword, now in pieces on Italy's floor. He had wielded that sword for ages, perhaps before Italy was even born, and now it was shattered. He looked at Italy. "Italy, what is wrong with you?! Why are you acting like this?!" Veneziano simply laughed, his head lolling to the side.

Japan was too frightened to stay. He knew when to back out, and so he did. Seeing as he had no weapons left on him, he darted backwards and took off down the hall.

The hall now seemed to glow an eerie red, as all the lights seemed to be stained with blood. _Is this Italy's doing as well?_ he thought to himself in horror. As he ran, the hallway seemed to grow longer, and frozen shadows seemed to appear on the walls. They all seemed to be vaguely familiar, and all in states of agony. One looked as if it had been strangled to death. Another looked as if its face had been stabbed through with some kind of blade. Another seemed to be trapped behind iron bars. Japan passed many others, including one that had been hung by a chandelier of some sort, many who had been stabbed, and many who had been lying dead, seeming to have died from some kind of impact. Japan heard Italy's eerie laugh echoing from behind him. _Don't look back,_ he tried to convince himself. _Looking back never does any good. DON'T look back! _Blood splattered the walls, possessing no source, no victim. Blood and gore appeared everywhere, even on Japan. As he ran, he saw words above him, written in the same disembodied blood, on the ceiling.

_This is the blood of the near future. Give up hope, for there is none. We will reach the shores and far beyond. I will use him. LOOK BEHIND YOU. _

Japan looked back, and immediately his eyes widened. All he could see was a black shape with two blood-red eyes dart at him with lightning speed. Blood splattered. It went black. His eyes blinked open as Japan slowly came to.

He felt the ground below him, and surprisingly, he was clean of blood and completely unharmed. "Where am I…?" he said weakly, trying to find his bearings. He heard water gurgling nearby, lapping against boats of some sort. As his vision cleared, he saw that he was outside, but it was dark. Japan stood, looking around. He took in the scenery, and sure enough, saw endless canals before him, speckled with many riverboats and gondolas. The canals were laced with bridges and docks, and lined with little shops, restaurants, bistros, and pizzerias.

"Venice," Japan said, "But… It seems no one is here…" It was true; there was no one on the streets, not on the gondolas in the canals, no tourists, no couples hoping for a romantic evening on the bridges… As Japan looked up, he saw a potential reason why the canals of Venice were so abandoned.

Above him were huge, dark clouds, laden with lightning and an eerie red glow. The clouds looked like charcoal, as if they had been set on fire and were still burning red-hot in the sky. Thunder rumbled and lightning struck nearby. It seemed as if the skies were extremely, incredibly angry,

Japan then noticed something else, which made his heart quicken in panic.

He was less than two inches tall.

Japan felt footsteps behind him, which almost seemed to shake the ground he stood on. He was too terrified to look, but knew that if he didn't, something bad would surely happen. He turned slowly, bracing himself for what could possibly be behind him. His eyes widened and his heart skipped a beat. It was Italy… And he was huge.

He was normal size, really, but he was so much taller than Japan, who was barely the size of Italy's little finger – speaking of which, his hand seemed to be completely healed.

"Ciao, Japan…" Italy said as he squatted to give a crazed, crocodilian grin to the tiny country.

"Italy, what's going on?!" Japan demanded, now in pure terror and desperation rather than anger. Before an answer was given, Japan fell into Italy's palm as the great nation picked him up, beginning to rise to his feet again.

"Give up hope," Italy said in his duotone voice, sounding almost demonic, glaring at Japan with those blood-red eyes. "And tell the others, as well." Veneziano chuckled, grinning slightly, with a small sense of sincerity, "It will only be wasted effort to fight back."

"Fight back?!" Japan exclaimed, "Italy, you are one of the most peaceful countries in the world! Why are you fighting?!"

Italy moved Japan closer to his face. "You don't understand, do you?" he said. "Well," he grinned, seeming almost delighted, "You will in time."

Japan was about to ask what he meant, when he heard Italy's stomach growl hungrily from below him. He was surprised , so much that he jumped, one reason being the fact that he was so small and potential prey at the moment, and the other being the fact that Italy's stomach was usually rather quiet in his adult years, though it had been quite loud as a child, especially when he had begun to grow and needed more food. Japan shivered… He definitely didn't want to BE Italy's food… But Italy wouldn't do that… Would he?

Italy had felt and heard his stomach growl as well, and after looking down at it, he looked at Japan, his pupils still dilated on bright red irises… And they seemed to be pulsing with his heartbeat.  
Sure enough, Japan looked around as he heard Italy's rapid and erratic pulse in the distance. After all, being North Italy, his heart, his capital, did happen to be Venice. Japan had been here once before, and being a country himself, plus a master of the spiritual world, he could easily hear the spiritual heartbeats of other countries. The last time he had been to Venice, however, Italy's heartbeat had been soft and tranquil, like the beautiful canals that wove through the land. Now, it was rushed, uneven, and insane.

"You heard that, Japan," Italy said, and Japan could tell that he was salivating. "I'm starving, and I haven't eaten since this morning. Sure, I could go for some pizza or pasta as usual… But now, I'm a little more in the mood for something… Japanese." He looked at Japan deviously.

Japan's heart skipped a beat again, and his face paled. He looked over the side of Italy's hand, but became nauseous as he saw how high up he was. He looked back up at Italy, panicking. As Veneziano smirked, arrogant, he picked up Japan in the other hand with two fingers. The little country didn't know what to do. If he struggled, he'd fall to his death. If he didn't, he'd be eaten alive! Which was worse: a quick plummet and instant death by impact, or a slow, painful death as the acids in Italy's stomach digested him? He chose to fall. Quickly, he began to struggle, kicking and squirming to try to get loose from Italy's grip. He couldn't get free – It was no use! He tried harder, and harder, panicking and squirming as Italy dangled him over his mouth. Japan looked down, and squealed as he saw Italy's eyes staring up at him with a hungry grin below.

"I hope you taste as good as your food does," Italy said, "Allies… Who needs them? They only slow you down."

Japan screamed as he felt Italy's fingers separate from his sides, and he plummeted. He picked up speed as he fell through the air, and landed in Italy's warm, wet mouth. Italy had caught him with his eyes closed in a relaxed state, maw wide open, saliva coating his tongue as he got ready to eat his own friend. Japan fell over in Italy's mouth, rolling over his tongue as his warm, sticky saliva soaked his clothes all the way through.

Italy, eyes still closed, rolled Japan around in his mouth, enjoying his succulent flavor.

"ITALY!" Japan screamed, "Sure, my anime is full of plenty of vore and things even more disturbing than that… But the fact that you're doing it in real life?! This is not you, Italy! You are not a cannibal!"

Italy would have laughed, if he wouldn't have spit Japan out in the process. "You fool… You forget that we are not human, no matter how much we may try to be. We are countries, and countries take over each other all the time… Devour them; absorb them, in a way. How is this any different? I am a country, not a pathetic human. I, Japan… Am much, _much_ more powerful." And with that, Italy drew all the saliva he would, and with one loud swallow, gulped Japan down, down, down into his stomach, as a bolt of lightning struck.

Japan jerked up out of his bed, and across the globe at Germany's house, Italy did as well. They both breathed heavily, hearts racing. Thunder was rolling, and rain was pouring. Lightning had struck in both Japan and Germany's lands at the same time.

Japan was wide-eyed, staring into the darkness. Feeling for his lamp, he hastily turned on the lights. He was drenched in sweat, and could feel his heart beating a mile a minute, shaking his body with each pulse. "A dream," Japan said, swallowing hard, and at the sound of his own swallow, he jumped. He hadn't been scared like that in a very long time. He dropped back down on his futon, too paranoid to turn the lights back off. _I'll sleep with the light on, _he thought, _Just for tonight… In case I'm still dreaming._ He shivered and pulled his sheets back over him. It was rather warm that night, but he was cold as ice, filled with fear.

Italy had stumbled out of bed, not even bothering to turn on his own lights, and hastily made his way to his bathroom. The faucet valve squeaked as he ran the water in the sink, standing over it, holding himself up by hinging his hands on the sides of the porcelain sink, his arms straight, shaking horribly and beaded with sweat. He was soaked, sweat seeping through his nightshirt on his back and chest. Every inch of him was drenched. However, he barely noticed; he hardly even opened his eyes, which were clenched shut, for fear of opening them to something gruesome… Something he had created.

He didn't want to speak. He didn't even want to think. His head hurt, the blood was gone from his face, and boy, was he nauseous… But he didn't care. His stomach lurched and he dry-heaved, but nothing came up. His stomach was empty, but he wanted to make sure of it. Veneziano pushed his hand as far as it could go under his ribs, into his stomach, but all he could feel was the immense heat from its agonizing churning. Japan was safe, he tried to convince himself, without thinking anything, really, in particular. He took a few steps back, and leaned his forehead against the doorway, his hands on either side. Then, all he could do was cry. All he could do was collapse to the floor and cry, curled, lonesome in the doorway.

But Italy _wanted_ to be alone. He couldn't bear the thought of hurting anyone. He just lay there in tears, distraught and helpless, as the thunder, wind, rain and lightning warred around him like the angry world did many years ago.


	6. Part 6

"That does sound odd," said Spain, sounding serious as opposed to his usual, laid-back disposition. "Little Veneziano? Are you sure this is the same country we are talking about?"

"Ja," said Germany, looking away sullenly. "He has not been acting at all like himself lately."

"You said he woke up in a cold sweat last night?" asked Spain, "Did he ever tell you what his dream had been about?"

"Germany shook his head. "Nein, he wouldn't say. He was so scared he wouldn't even let me in his room. He was afraid he would hurt me."

"Hurt you?" Spain said, astonished. "Mi amigo, this is not my little Italia at all."

"Ja," Germany said again, nodding, "Which is why I came to you for help." He took a sip of the rich, Spanish hot chocolate Spain had brewed for the both of them, only to stare down at it questioningly as he had been doing, seeing as he was more used to his own German chocolate.

"Well," Spain said, looking almost desperately around various parts of the room, "What do you want me to do, exactly?" You have been close allies with Italy ever since the end of World War I."

"But I am running out of options," said Germany. "And besides, you live here with his bruder. He hasn't been acting abnormally as well?"

Spain looked up, thinking. "No, actually, Romano has been completely fine. Well, for him. He hasn't done anything out of the ordinary, although he has always been somewhat rude and a bit violent. But he'd never actually hurt anyone, and he's a bit too weak to even accomplish it. You know?"

"I see," Germany said, "So Romano isn't being affected by whatever is making Italy act so abnormal."

"No," Spain said, "And I have no idea what could be making him so unstable. He has never acted anything like this."

"Actually," Germany said, "There was once a time when Italy was not entirely stable."

Spain looked up at Germany, surprised. "You mean this is not the first time it has happened?"

"Nein," Germany said, "It wasn't exactly the same. Back then, he was more controlled, and had more of a reason."

"I don't remember anything about Italy acting even remotely similar to this," Spain said, intrigued. "Do you mind telling me more?"

"Not at all," said Germany, and he thought. "Well, it was back in 1861, when he and his bruder were unified. Shortly after that, they established an empire of trade. It was not very powerful, seeing as Italy himself, and his bruder, were not very powerful at the time. It was simply a trade empire. However, during World War II, this Italian Empire became more prominent. Its heart was in Rome, sharing a heart with Romano, but it presided over mostly Northern Italy, because of Italy's past renaissance, his successful art trade, and the fact that he was closer to the other countries in both geography and alliance, having been captured by Austria and associated more with the central European nations. Anyway, around the time of World War II, Italy had visually become more anxious and slightly more aggressive. However, I suspect it was more of his dog-like disposition that he wanted to follow in my footsteps and spread his empire to the shores. He wanted, at times, to prove his power, but I would never take him seriously because although he would say these things, he would never show that he actually wanted to accomplish these things. He was so weak back then that he usually isn't even associated with the Axis Powers in modern day textbooks and history logs. Japan and I did most of the work in the war, and all Italy would end up doing was retreat." Germany sighed. "He did have a few small and surprising victories, but other than that, Italy was barely even involved in the war."

"So this… Italian Empire… Caused Italy to act abnormal?" asked Spain.

"Not exactly," Germany said, "I believe it was more that Italy wanted to protect and expand this empire, and it might have been that his longing for expansion was part of his wanting to, impress me, almost, as it seems."

"I see," Spain said, "So he merely wanted to impress you."

"It may have been the rest of the world he wanted to impress as well," said Germany. "He may have just been wanting to prove to the world that he can actually do something militarily productive."

Spain nodded. "Si. So, is that what you suggest is happening to him now?"

"Nein, not at all," Germany said, "This time, he is pushing it away. He has been having nightmares whenever he gets the slightest amount of sleep. Now he is even afraid to sleep and has not gotten much, and it is visible in the bags under his eyes and his increased lack of effort. He is even lazier than usual, and I didn't think he could _get_ any lazier. Plus, the longer he stays awake, the more unstable he gets."

"I did notice the other day at the World Conference that he was acting very unusual."

"Ja, he did have that peculiar outburst that evening…"

Spain scratched his head. "Ay, mi amigo, I'm not sure how I can help you… I still have my own obnoxious little ally to keep track of, as well."

"Spain! Who are you talking to?" A voice came from the kitchen of Spain's house.

Spain looked toward the kitchen and then back at Germany. "Ay… Speak of the Diablo… Just a visitor, Romano!"

Italia Romano came tromping through the doorway into the living room where Spain and Germany were sitting, tossing a small red tomato between his hands. "Well you'd better cut it short because we're almost out of tomatoes, and—" He was about to take a bite out of the tomato he held, when he looked up and stopped in his tracks at the sight of Germany.

There was a long pause. For about ten seconds, no one said anything. All three just froze, Germany and Spain staring at Romano, Romano staring at Germany. Finally, Romano broke the silence.

His words started low and then escalated higher and louder. "Spain. Why. Is. This. Thing. IN OUR HOUSE?!"

"Romano! Please!" Spain began, standing up and trying to pacify the raging Italian.

Romano, in a furious rampage, began to storm toward Germany, tossing the tomato onto the table, face red with anger. "Tu testa di cazzo! Prendi l'inferno fuori di casa mia! Io spingera la testa cosi in alto su per il culo che il essa uscirà dalla vostra bocca!"

"Romano! Calmese!" Spain held Romano back and tried to restrain him. "Que te he ensenado sobre el uso de esas palabras!"

"Oh," Romano said, still trying to get at Germany, "Asi que estamos hablando Espanol ahora?! Porque nunca aprenden a hablar mi idioma?!"

"Just calm down, Romano!" Spain said, still holding him back, "He's here because he came to us for help!"

"Help with what?!" Romano shouted, stopping his struggling briefly.

"Romano," said Spain, "Your brother has been acting very unordinary lately…"

"From living with you, potato bastard—!" He started at Germany again.

Germany stood suddenly, pushing the chair he was sitting in out of the way. "Look, I haven't done anything to you lately, so why do you still hate me so much?!"

"For occupying Rome!" Romano exclaimed, "I'll never forgive you for that!"

"Oh, will you let that go already?!" Germany boomed, "I am sorry, okay? I have changed. I've made many mistakes in the past that I've well paid for. Invasion, murder, genocide, I've done all of these things, but I am a different country now! I am not ruled by a tyrant starved with landlust; I am a simple country like most others now, just trying to keep peace. We have all begun to mature and put our grudges behind us but you are simply too naïve and arrogant to swallow your pride and lessen your hatred for me! If you cared for your brother, you would at least pretend to help me."

"That's a load of bullcrap," Romano said, "About being a different country."

"Bullcrap or not," said Germany, "There is something wrong with your brother and he needs all the help he can get. Are you going to help me or not?"

Romano was quiet. He looked to the side, refusing to look the German in the eye. "I will help him. Not you." He crossed his arms.

"Then will you tell me how we can fix this?"

Romano thought. "…Maybe I can talk some sense into him… He's probably just being over-dramatic…"

"Maybe," said Germany, "Then I guess… I can bring him in? He's out in the yard. I couldn't leave him at home because he could have hurt himself…"

"Hmph." Romano stormed toward the front door. "You probably just wanted to take him along so you could _be_ with him longer." He opened the door and started outside.

"What? Don't skip to these sick conclusions," Germany said, following him out the door.

"Ay," Spain said, rubbing his head and following the both of them, "I'm going to need a siesta after this…"

Outside, Italy was chained to the front steps by a collar that belonged to one of Germany's dogs. When he heard the door open and close as the others came out, he looked up and sat in the position of a begging dog.

"Woof woof!" he said cutely, panting like a dog, "Look, Romano! I'm a cucciolo!"

"Oh, look," Romano whined pitifully, "And you've got him all tied up like a dog, too! I'm not sure whether this is just abuse or some kind of sick sexual fetish."

"Will you cut it out? Germany said, "I couldn't trust him to stay put before, so what makes you think I'd be able to trust him being all emotionally unstable?"

"Ciiao, mio fratello," Romano said, "This asshole has been giving you hell lately, hasn't he?" he began to unchain Italy and take off the collar.

"What?" Italy said, "No! Germany has been his blocky old self as always. Plus, it's fun to be a puppy! Woof!"

"Blocky…?" said Germany.

"Well," Romano said sarcastically, "That's nice…"

"Want to rub my belly?" Italy said, sitting up even straighter.

"No."

"Do you want to come in and talk to us for a little while, Italia?" Spain asked.

Italy's smile turned into a frown. "Talk about what, España?" However, he knew what Spain had meant.

"Just a little talk," said Germany, "About… How you've been acting lately."

Italy's face fell. "But… It's not my fault! I—"

"Look, you bambino," his brother blurted out in frustration, "You've been acting like crap lately and we're not taking this act any longer, Veneziano!"

Italy had flinched at Romano's outburst, but looked down with his eyes closed tightly in a painful expression. "Okay," he said quietly, "I'll talk…"

"Danke, Italy," Germany said, and reached out his glove-sheathed hand to the kneeling country. As Italy took his hand, Germany unfastened the collar around his neck, letting it as well as the chains fall to the grass. He then pulled him up to his feet, and the four countries proceeded inside.

"I don't know _what's_ happening," Veneziano said after he took a sip of the hot chocolate Spain had made him. He was sitting on the edge of one of the chairs, staring blankly ahead of him at Spain's feet. "I'm just… Not myself. The way I've been acting, and thinking, even… It's not anything like I know myself to be." His vision shifted out the window, and his coppery eyes trembled. Germany saw his Adam's apple quiver up and down as he swallowed involuntarily, a lump of sadness and fear lodged in his olive-skinned throat.

"And what of your dreams?" asked Spain, leaning forward slightly in his chair, his hands resting on his lap with fingers interlaced.

Italy's eyes remained transfixed forward, not staring at anything in particular. As he opened his mouth to inhale, the soft click of his tongue separating from the roof of his mouth could be heard. After another nervous swallow and a flick of his tongue through his dry lips, he spoke, now looking at Spain, though not in the eye.

"I've had… Somewhat disturbing dreams…" he said, his voice quivering softly, "Involving me… And… Others…" He shifted slightly as he put his hand inside his open jacket, placing it delicately against his own abdomen.

"Do you think you could be sick?" Germany asked.

"If I am," Italy said, "It can't be any ordinary disease."

"Yeah," said Romano, "Of course he's not sick, you potato bastard! Look at my brother, it's obviously something different! You don't know anything about him! See, Veneziano? This monstrosity doesn't even know the first thing about taking care of you!"

"Silencio, Romano!" Spain snapped at him, "You don't even know how to take care of yourself, let alone your brother!"

"Maybe so, but I know more than that wurst-brained sack of rotten potatoes, at least!"

Spain stood up. "You stop that disrespectful talk right now! Señor Germany is our guest!"

Romano stood up as well. "I'm not a bambino anymore, España. I'm thousands of years old and have been independent from you for God knows how long!"

Italy's head filled with sharp pains from the yelling. He held his head and his eyes pressed shut. A confusing feeling of frustration, annoyance and rage began to build inside of him. His brother did _not_ know more about him. Germany knew and understood much more. That was why he was his friend. In fact, Romano didn't know the _first thing_ about his and Germany's friendship. He didn't understand. He did NOT. His eyes opened, his curl of hair growing jagged. Spain and Romano kept arguing.

Now, Germany stood up. "Silence! Everybody just SHUT UUUUP!"

The lights flickered and then turned off. It seemed even the light from the windows was shut out, as the sky had become black with clouds, and the room was swallowed in darkness. What was heard next was a whimper from Romano. Then, there was a sudden, terrifying, bloodcurdling scream accompanied by the sound of liquid slapping onto the floor as it was poured. Something heavy hit the floor, taking a glass vase with it, which smashed as it fell.

Startled curse words were heard from Germany as he stumbled over furniture to find the light switch. Glasses smashed as he scrambled around the perimeter of the room, trying desperately to turn the lights on. Romano was screaming in blind terror. When Germany found the lights, Romano's screams stopped as they flicked on. However, as he and Germany turned to see what had happened, they were both mute with shock at what they saw.

It was Spain, lying on the floor directly in front of Romano.

Dead.

Romano's eyes widened, and as soon as he could speak, it came out almost automatically. "NOOOO!" he nearly collapsed as he held his head, the blood draining from his face almost instantly. He stumbled to Spain's side and held his head in his lap. When he was turned over, blood spilled from his mouth onto Romano's legs. Romano shook Spain repeatedly. "Wake up," he said frantically, "Spain, wake up, you bastard!" his voice cracked with a squeak and tears rolled down his cheeks.

"…Romano…" Germany said.

"_No! Shut up!_" Romano barked at Germany, "He's not dead, he's not _dead!_"

"Romano!" Germany repeated. "Listen to me…"

"SHUT UP!" Romano cried out, his voice cracking again. He held Spain's lifeless head in his lap, running his trembling fingers through the country's deep brown, blood-soaked hair.

Germany sat down beside Spain, inspecting his lifeless body. Through all the sticky, deep red blood, there was a hole in his lower throat about the size of a fist. Blood was pooled inside it and was still pouring out of him. Gallons of it were already on the floor and all over Spain and Romano's clothing. Everything was red. The room reeked of blood.

Germany put a finger to the top of Spain's breast, inspecting the wound. "Look at this," he said, pointing to the inside of the hole. It was hollow and very deep, as if the inner tissues had been parted away from each other. Also, as Germany was pointing out, there were long, tube-like bodies of tissue hanging out from the inside of the wound.

"His arteries seem to have been pulled out," Germany said, "And by the looks of it, they were ripped. It seems that…" He turned to Romano. "His heart was torn out from his throat."

Romano looked at Germany with the widest eyes he could remember having. "He's not dead… He just _can't_ be dead…"

"…I'm so sorry, Romano…" Germany said, swallowing the pain and trauma of the moment, "He is dead." He softly closed Spain's dull, blank eyes.

"No…" Romano whimpered, "NO!" he pressed his head against Spain's, shaking his shoulders and rocking him back and forth. "Spain, wake up, you stupid bastard! Get up! Germany knows nothing about you! You are strong! Do you hear me, Spain? You are _strong!_ You're the strongest country there ever was! And do you know how I know that? Because you put up with me! You, of all people, had the guts and the strength to take me, an irresponsible, talentless wreck of a child, into your home, and _raise me!_ You cared for me no matter what I did, no matter how much I revolted, even after I gained independence as a country! You stayed strong for me, España! Why can't you stay strong for me now? Why can't you do this one last thing so I can actually appreciate it for once? Speak to me, España! Speak to me! PLEASE! SPEAK TO ME! SPEAK TO ME! SPEAK TO ROMANO! SPEAK TO YOUR LITTLE ROMANO! PLEEEASE!"

Germany suddenly noticed something. Where had Italy gone? He was no longer in the room. He looked at Romano, who was completely hysterical, and decided it was best to leave him alone. He stood up and hurried out the door, for he had a hunch as to where Italy could have gone to.

Romano hardly noticed Germany leave. He threw back his head as the oncoming thunder crashed in the distance, echoing throughout the somber Spanish coasts.

**_"SPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIN!"_**


	7. Part 7

Germany hurried out the door just as it had begun to pour. Thunder boomed as the storm approached, drowning out the sound of Romano's grieving wails. His boots crunched on the gravel as he dashed through the path from Spain's house, eyes on the trees ahead. He knew exactly where to go.

Mud now splashed on Germany's clothing, bloodied from Spain's dead body. He neared the exit of the dark, chilling forest that had once been a place of peace for his dear friend. He knew that Italy would have run here, to the cliffs on the other side of this forest, where he had gone so many times as a small child to escape the many arguments between his brother and Spain whenever he visited. He once painted those cliffs when he escaped the world for a longer while than usual, wanting to isolate himself from the many insults of the other countries. He would surely have gone here. He hadn't been here in the longest time, but Germany knew he would have gone here.

Sure enough, when he brushed past the last few trees, he saw Italy sitting there in the rain, dressed in the same casual jacket he had been wearing before he went missing. He was sitting in a defensive, paranoid position on the edge of the cliff, and when he heard Germany approach, he turned around instantly, shaking in horror.

"Italy," Germany said urgently.

Italy flinched, and before Germany could say anymore, he let out a yelp that even surprised Germany so much as to make him jump. "IT WASN'T MY FAULT! IT WASN'T ME! IT WASN'T MY FAULT!"

"Italy!" said Germany as he took Italy by the shoulders and began to shake him, "Italy, what is happening? A country is _dead!_ What is going on?"

Italy could tell that Germany was not angry, but desperate and even a bit scared. The reality hit him and he burst into tears. Germany was _never_ scared. "I don't know what happened, Germany, I don't know! I was there one second and the lights went off and I heard a scream and ran out! I panicked! I didn't know what was going on!" He said all this very quickly as he choked back enormous sobs, rocking back and forth with his hands tucked deep inside his jacket.

Germany paused. What was he thinking? Italy couldn't _kill_ someone, let alone a country. "I know, I know… I'm not pointing at you. But who else could it have been? There were only three of us in the room!"

Italy looked up at Germany, his face pained and soaked from rain and tears. His hair stuck to his face, drenched with water. "Germany, I don't know what you think, but I feel in my gut that there were four."

Germany's eyes widened. He looked back toward Spain's house. "Well, whoever it was…" He looked back to Italy almost suspiciously, narrowing his icy blue eyes, "They have the power to single-handedly take down an enormous world power. After a few seconds, he stood and retreated quickly back through the woods.

When Germany left, Italy sobbed again, whining loudly and shaking wildly in horror. He slowly took out his hands and looked down at them. They were covered in blood.

Germany burst into Spain's house as a streak of lightning illuminated the sky. He approached Romano and Spain, his eyes darting cautiously around the room. Romano was quiet now, staring down at Spain's body with glassy, bloodshot eyes. He looked up at Germany as he kneeled beside Spain once again. There was a long silence as Romano stared forward bitterly. After a while, he spoke.

"He was protecting me," he said, and swallowed. Germany looked at him as if to apologize. Romano nodded once. "The murderer went for me. Spain had pushed me back… I felt it. He thought fast."

"He was very important to you," Germany said.

Romano opened his mouth to snap back, but he stopped, choking back tears. "Yeah…"

"Do you want to be alone?"

Romano stared, nose wrinkled, at Germany with a hateful look, but then looked away. "No…"

Germany was surprised, but nodded.

"He was like a father to me," Romano said. "He did so much for me… And I never showed him… How much it meant to me…"

Germany looked away.

"You're very calm," Romano said, "What, do you not care about poor Espańa?!"

"What? No, I…" Germany looked down. "I've seen… Done… Many more terrible, more gruesome things… I've been through so much…"

"How could you have gone through any more than me or my brother? We're older than you, idiot…"

Germany stared blankly for a few seconds, and then looked back at Romano. "Even so, my military background is much harsher. Unlike you and your brother, I've made many mistakes. I've done things I'm not proud of… Things that have practically taken away my fear of death."

"We all have done things we are not proud of," said Romano, and he tucked his legs in close, wrapping his arms around them and rocking slowly.

Germany looked around the room again. "Well, I don't see any murderer around here." He looked at Romano again. "Do you know what that means?"

Romano was silent.

"…It means that it was Italy," Germany said as he stood. "And if it's true that Spain saved you, then I wouldn't be around your brother any time soon if I were you. He tried to kill you."

"That bastard…" Romano growled, "My own brother killed Spain."

"Yes, but you should stay away from him until he becomes dormant. I think he may be after you, and if he could kill Spain… We don't know what else he might—"

"HE KILLED THE ONLY FATHER I EVER HAD." Romano bellowed. "That murderer will pay… And I will make sure of it."

"Romano," Germany said sternly, "I know you're emotional, but please! We don't need two murderers around here."

Romano was silent.

"It's what Spain would want."

He looked back at Germany with an annoyed expression. "I will stay away from him."

"Thank you."

"But not for you," said Romano, "It's because if I saw him again, he'd be dead in a second."

"That's good enough," said Germany. He thought for s while. "Maybe… I know I'll regret this, but maybe Austria knows something on the matter. He _was_ Italy's caretaker for a long period of time after the Italian wars. Maybe he'll know something about what's happening…?"

"I don't care," Romano said, "All I know is that I never want to see Veneziano again." He held his head. "Hell… I may even separate from him… Become my own country…"

"He'll be back to normal soon and I'll make sure of it," said Germany. "I don't know what's going on with him… But this has to stop. Now." He inhaled deeply. "What are you going to do with Spain?"

"…I'm going to bury him," said Romano. "Right here in his yard, near his house. This house has meant so much to me… To us… For the hundreds of years I've lived with him. He's always loved this house… It's so sentimental to him. He deserves to rest in the place he loves."

Germany ran a hand through Spain's hair. "He deserves a good rest in general, as well. He's done so much in his life, fought for so much… He doesn't need to fight anymore."

Romano nodded hesitantly. "He was a wonderful, brave man. He deserves rest now."

Germany nodded and turned toward the door. "Well," he said, "Austria may have something to say about this. I'm going to take Italy to see him. Romano, you stay away from your brother for the time being."

"I'm not doing it because of you," Romano barked. "I'm doing it because if I saw that bastard again, I'd beat him to death."

"As long as you stay away," Germany said as he rolled his eyes. "Well, I will see you later."

Romano watched as Germany left. When the door closed, he relaxed slightly, a lump growing in his throat. Though his brother had killed his fatherly figure and closest friend, he didn't hate Italy. In fact, he hadn't wanted Italy to be the murderer. He hadn't wanted to have to hate his own brother. _Why did it have to be him?_ he thought to himself.

After collecting Italy and enduring a long car ride filled with agonizing silence, Germany parked outside Austria's house. He was relieved when he stepped out of the car. Though Italy was a good friend of his, he had been feeling panicked after a two-hour long ride with a murderer in his back seat.

As Italy exited the car, he got chills looking up at the extravagant Germanic mansion before him. This was a place he was once held prisoner. It was a place of injustice and captivity for him. He had gone to great lengths to gain independence from this place… So why was Germany bringing him here?

Veneziano hung close beside Germany as they walked toward Austria's house. They had left the thunderstorm back in Spain's territory, but a sheet of light grey clouds still covered the sky. "Germany…?" Italy quietly spoke up, "Why are we going here again, exactly?"

"I told you," Germany said without turning back, "We're going to talk to Austria about this. This is a serious problem… Maybe he could tell us something."

"Couldn't you just… Call or something?" Italy asked timidly.

"I did," said Germany, "But he wanted us to all meet in person."

"Okay," Veneziano said quietly.

After Germany climbed the elegant marble steps in front of Austria's house, he stared up at the large, intricately designed front door and then knocked three times.

After a few moments, the door opened, to be answered by none other than Hungary, Austria's ex-wife, downed in her evening robes and carrying a tray of delicious-looking pastries and wines. "Hello, Germany and Italy, she said, "Austria informed me about you coming, but didn't tell me when. You're earlier than I expected."

Italy's mood immediately brightened when he saw Hungary… Although it could have been the pastries, and Germany knew that food would always make Italy happy on an empty stomach, which he surely had as he hadn't eaten since breakfast. "Ciao, Signorina Hungary!" Italy said, saluting with a dumb yet giddy expression.

Hungary smiled. "Hello, Italy. It seems you grow bigger every time I see you. I feel so old; it feels like just yesterday that you could barely reach the ribbon on my old dress!" Her grin fell and she stared at him with a serious face. "And even sooner that you actually DID reach it and undid that dress."

Italy scratched behind his head and blushed, embarrassed. "Bach then I didn't know it would do that… Hehehe."

"Anyway," Hungary said, smiling, "I'll take you to Austria. He's in the music room right now. It's his piano session right now." She stepped out of the way so that they could enter, and once they were inside, she closed the door. "Right this way," She said as she walked ahead of them, leading them eventually to the elegant music room Italy remembered so well.

Germany had also looked around the room as if he had remembered it sentimentally. Italy knew Germany had surely been here before, but didn't understand why he was looking at it as if he had known this place from childhood, just as he had.

The music room was exquisite, its dainty walls decked with windows, its rugs spotless and perfect, though they were hundreds of years old. In the center of the extraordinary room sat Austria, tinkling Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata on his glossy, ebony black grand piano.

Germany, Italy and Hungary all listened as Austria played. The notes tumbled over each other like a river running over smooth, slippery stones. The way he played was so soft and gentle. The three other nations watched as his delicate yet swift fingers flicked over the keys with instinctual speed. Austria had heard and played this song time after time. He knew every note, every key by heart. Every tap of the keyboard was imbued within his own blood, surged through every inch of him as the music flowed out through the rooms and halls of the house as if they were his veins and the music was his blood. The gorgeous music seemed to come from within him, rather than the piano. After playing the last few notes, letting the very last one ring out for a while, he slowly and quietly closed the keyboard and then stood up, straightening out the tail of his coat. With a pursed grin, he turned and looked at Germany as if he had known the whole time that he was there, although he had practically been playing with his eyes closed. "You're late."

"Late?" Germany said, "This is the time you told me to arrive! Plus, you were just playing the piano, which also took up time!"

"It is common household courtesy to show up at least five minutes early when visiting another residence."

Germany gritted his teeth in frustration, but decided it was best not to argue. "I apologize, then."

Austria smirked. "You are forgiven." He lifted his nose snobbishly and proceeded across the room, sitting down in a chair padded with decorative cushions. He motioned to two other chairs around a small table.

Italy and Germany made their way to the table and sat around it as well. Hungary laid down her tray of desserts. "I'll go tidy up a bit," she said, and she left the room.

When Hungary was gone, Austria motioned to the tray. "Would either of you like any of my notorious cakes or pastries?"

Germany shook his head, and began to say no, but was drowned out by Italy piping up with "I'll have some!" He reached hastily for a crème cake, but his hand was swatted away by Austria.

Austria pointed sternly in Italy's face as Veneziano rubbed his hand and frowned. "Not so fast, Italy. Show some respect, at least, instead of stuffing yourself like usual. And don't take too many! I know your stomach is like a bottomless pit."

Italy whimpered a bit in fear and pain, and then carefully took a bite out of it.

"Any wine?" Austria asked, looking at Germany and pouring a glass of red wine for himself.

"Not for me," said Germany, "You know me… I can't ever just have one glass of alcohol. And I have to drive back… Heh…" He scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. Sometimes Austria was so serious he even made Germany look bad.

"Suit yourself," Austria said, "Any coffee?"

Germany shook his head, but Italy raised his hand cheerfully.

Austria began to pour coffee into a cup from a teapot. He eyed Italy suspiciously. "Are you sure _you_ need any coffee?"

"It's better than alcohol with me," Italy said with a chuckle.

"…Well…" Austria said, "_That_ is true." He gave Italy the coffee and Italy began to add cream and sugar. He then stirred it and took a sip, but pouted. It wasn't as good as espresso.

"So," said Austria, reclining with his glass of wine and placing one hand on his stomach, "Germany, you mentioned Spain being killed."

Germany nodded sullenly. "Yes. I am afraid so."

"You didn't tell me how," Austria said.

Germany swallowed hard and looked at Italy, whose eyes were clenched shut in anguish. "Well," he said, turning back to Austria, "…He was killed by Italy."

Austria nearly choked on his wine. "That is funny, Germany, though I don't think it's very respectful of the dead to mock them."

"But I'm not mocking them!" Germany said, "He was killed just a few hours ago before noon, by Italy!"

"You are trying to prank me, aren't you?" said Austria, "Your brother has surely rubbed off on you."

"Listen to me!" Germany snapped, "I am not lying. Italy _did_ kill Spain."

Austria placed his wine on the table. "You are actually serious? Italy actually _defeated_ a country, let alone _killed_ them?"

Italy was staring forward, not speaking a word.

"Ja, ja…" said Germany, "He killed Spain. The point is…" He looked at Italy, who looked back sullenly. "Italy… Would you mind if we spoke in private for a little while?"

Italy nodded slowly and then stood up. He walked out of the room, but then stopped in the hallway. He looked back toward the music room, and then stood against the wall near the door, listening in on their conversation.

"I came to you for help," said Germany, "Italy has been acting… Insane, lately… And it has gone too far. A country has died at his hand because something is definitely wrong."

Austria looked at him and straightened his glasses, which rested on his dark indigo eyes. "Then why did you come to me?"

"You held him captive for 83 years. You should know if something like this has happened before."

Austria shifted uneasily in his chair and looked around the room, sighing and patting his middle. "Well, I know for one that… He is much more powerful than he is believed to be."

Germany's icy blue eyes widened. "What do you mean?"

"Italy isn't as weak as others imagine him to be," Austria continued. "His history is one of the oldest and most complex in Europe. It dates back to before he was even born, as he shares history with his grandfather."

"The Roman Empire," Germany said, his eyes glistening with bewilderment. Italy's grandfather was one of his most prominent role models.

"Austria nodded. "The Roman Empire, cocky as he was, knew near the end of his life that he wouldn't last forever. He had had many children before, but none of them has bonded to him very well, him being a great, powerful empire, and them being human. Many children of his, and many lovers of his, had come and gone like rain. However, Rome knew he was becoming old and weak. He knew, underneath all his arrogance, that he would one day not be here. So, he prayed day and night for a descendant who could take over his land for him when he was gone, and carry on his legacy. In time, one of his daughters bore not one, but two sons, one after the other. They were given the names Italia Romano, and Italia Veneziano… The two Italy brothers."

Germany nodded, and Austria continued. "He was enthralled to be blessed with two sons… But tended to favor Veneziano. Italy inherited his talents, charm, and good looks, and so he decided to try to evolve Italy's skills. He treasured him, and taught him so much of his culture, so that he could carry on his grandfather's image when he was gone. He taught Italy all there was to know about arts, literature and religion… But saved one thing to give him in his own death. When it came time for him to fall, he placed something special into Italy's heart while he was sleeping. It was indeed his own strength. However, when his grandfather died, Italy became scared. He only wanted peace with the other countries. He had much strength, inherited from the most powerful empire that has ever lived, but he withheld it out of fear, innocence and compassion. He has since had that strength inside him, yet refuses to use it." Austria closed his eyes. "I actually wasn't _that_ surprised when I heard that Italy had killed Spain. It seems like he's finally letting it out."

"Letting it out…" Germany said, his hand to his chin, "But… On another country? Italy would never do that…"

"I'd say Italy needs to be kept locked up," Austria said, reclining with his wine again.

Italy's face fell. How could he say such a thing?! His heart began to race.

"Absolutely not," said Germany, standing up, "Italy may have killed a country, but he doesn't deserve to be locked up like an animal!"

"He could be a threat to the rest of us," Austria said, drumming his fingers on his stomach as if he were playing a piano. "That threat needs to be eliminated."

"We aren't animals, and we aren't humans," said Germany, "We're countries. Our instinct is to take over."

"Take over, but not kill!" said Austria, standing. "Italy is a danger to all of us, and we can't risk the same thing happening again."

Germany stared angrily at Austria as he began to walk around the room, his hands behind his back. Italy listened in fear. He didn't want to be locked up. A cell was no place for him! He wanted to be able to run and feel the sun on his skin and smell the sweet European grasses and breathe the fresh air and watch the fluffy clouds roll by… He didn't want to be kept away like some terrible beast! The same sharp pain came back to him, and he winced, covering his ears, not wanting to hear them talk anymore about keeping him locked up.

"I won't let it happen," Germany insisted, "I'm not keeping Italy in a… In a cage!"

Italy's curl twitched a bit and his heart beat rapidly. His breathing began to quicken and he started to shake. Why would they lock him up? Why? He didn't mean to kill Spain! He didn't!

"I am sorry, Germany," said Austria, "But it's what's best for all of us."

Germany was about to speak up, but was stopped when Italy shouted from the doorway. "Zitto, _zitto!_" He stormed into the room, eyes wide, hands on his head. His screams echoed through the house.

"Italy!" Germany said as he turned around, startled.

"Italy, calm down!" Austria raised his voice sternly.

"I'm sick of it, okay?! Sick of it! I'm not a dog, I'm a country! I don't want to be locked up, I didn't mean to, I didn't mean to! I didn't do anything! I didn't… I… AaaaaAAAAAAGH!" He spoke so fast that he stumbled over his words.

"Italy," Germany said, putting his hands on Italy's shoulders, "Calm down. Just calm down. Everything is okay."

Italy gritted his teeth. "I'm sick of being tossed around like I'm nothing! And now you want to lock me up?!"

Before Germany could say anything, Austria grabbed Italy's shoulder. "You killed a country," Austria shouted, "And that's not bad enough to get you locked up?! You're insane, Italy! You're a threat to all of us!"

"Stai _ZITTO!_" Italy screamed at the top of his lungs, so loud that his voice cracked. Thunder suddenly crashed and it began to rain. "You kept me hostage for 83 years! I'm NOT letting you keep me captive anymore! I broke free from you and I will do it again if I must!"

"You are nothing, Italy!" Austria barked, "You may have the strength, but you don't have the _courage_! You've never had the courage and you still don't!"

Germany would have said something, but he turned slowly toward the window, fear growing slightly inside him as he saw the accumulation of dark grey cumulonimbus clouds outside, rain drumming rapidly against the windows, and lightning flashing ominously in the distance. _The storm,_ he thought, _It… Followed us?_

Italy's teeth were gritted, and he was hyperventilating and shaking crazily. "You've never had enough courage to stand up to me and you've known that from the beginning," Austria continued, "Just because you killed one country doesn't mean I'll back down from you, Italy! You can never stand up to me because you are too afraid to do _anything._" Tears dripped from Italy's eyes as he clenched them shut tightly, still gritting his teeth. "If you think you're so independent," Austria said, leaning down to Italy's face, "stand up to me. Come on…_Stand up to me!_"

Italy looked up at Austria, trying to say something, but he lost his words and let a tear run down his cheek.

Austria grinned, satisfied, and nodded toward Germany, "You see, Germany? He can't even—"

With a terrifying and startling roar, Italy slammed into Austria, grabbing him around the middle and throwing him into the table. As Austria landed on the table, the glasses on it shattered and the tabletop broke off its support, toppling over to the floor.

Germany grabbed hold of Italy immediately, securing his arms to his side. Italy squirmed and screamed almost demonically, still trying to get at Austria.

"_Italy!_" Germany barked through his teeth, "_Calm down! Halt! HALT!_" He yelped in pain when Italy bit down on his finger, and then let him go as he pulled back.

Italy burst forward at Austria, who had gotten to his feet and was wincing, covered in blood and broken glass, and splattered with pieces of pasty. As he looked up from his wounds, Italy collided with him at full-speed and rammed him into the side of his piano.

"Italy! Cut it out! Get off him!" Germany cried, trying to pull Italy off Austria. Italy turned back and punched Germany in the face with a great force, and Germany staggered back and fell over.

Italy took Austria and smashed him into the piano over and over, and Austria's weak attempts to fight back were of no use. Blood streamed from his nose and covered Italy's menacing hands. With one more smash, the piano's side was actually lifted into the air, the legs on its opposite side snapping, until the entire ebony-black grand piano sat precariously on its side. Not expecting it, Italy threw Austria to the floor and recoiled back, looking up, wide-eyed at the gigantic instrument in what seemed like slow motion.

_What have I done?_

Austria, every inch of him in utter pain, looked weakly up at the piano, squinting through the blood on his face, with barely enough time so much as to gasp before the enormous, 800-pound instrument came crashing down on top of him, all its keys ringing out a harrowing B-flat. Blood trickled out from beneath the smashed piano.

Italy stared down at it in terror. He looked down at his bloody hands. What. Had. He. Just. Done.

"AUSTRIA!" Germany yelled, scrambling to his feet. He rushed to try to lift the piano off of him, tearing away at its smashed pieces. Finally he cleared it away so that Austria's upper half was free. He was still alive… But just barely. Austria was completely soaked in blood, and it was undoubtedly certain that a good portion of his bones were crushed. Also, from the looks of the gashes in his head, he probably had a bad concussion. "Austria…" Germany said, carefully lifting his dark hair to look at the cuts that covered his head. Austria looked up at him through his broken glasses, trembling as he quickly lost blood.

"I-I can't feel my legs," he sobbed in the utmost pain, "I can't feel them!"

"Austria?" Hungary said as she walked through the doorway with a pot of tea. "Austria!" When she saw what had happened, she dropped the pot, letting it smash on the floor, and rushed to his side in a fit of panic.

"Hungary…" Austria wailed, his face falling even more in guilt, "Hungary, my love…" He lent out his blood-soaked hand and she took it, crying desperately. "Even though we separated," he continued, "I never really… Stopped loving you…"

Hungary's face was immediately red and her eyes filled with tears. "Who did this to you? What happened?!"

"It was Italy," Germany said with a hand to his head. Italy looked at him in shock. Then, he sprinted off like a spooked deer, bent over with his hands over his face.

"Italy?!" Hungary said, but didn't care. "Austria, please! Hold on! Keep holding on, don't leave me! Please don't leave me!" She sobbed convulsively. "We'll take you to the hospital… I'll do anything!"

Austria looked up into Hungary's eyes, his heart burning with guilt. He then looked down, as if to motion toward his waist, where the piano had almost completely cut through him. The piece of the splintered instrument that had sliced his middle was still partly inside him and covered his crushed legs. His intestines were undoubtedly severed and blood was pouring from the piece of wood that had sliced him.

"No…" Hungary said, covering her mouth with the hand that wasn't holding Austria's hand.

Austria coughed and lurched, and blood poured from his mouth, as well as bits of his lunch from earlier that day. He spit out the last of it and looked up at Hungary. "I am so sorry," he said, his face pained, "For everything… For our separation, for World War I, for…" His voice cracked and he winced as tears rolled from his fading indigo eyes down his bloody cheeks.

"Shh…" said Hungary, wiping the bloody tear from his face, "It's okay… It's all okay… I forgive you for everything… It's all behind us…"

Austria, though growing weaker, squeezed Hungary's hand with all the strength he could. After a few moments, he turned to Germany, who had his back turned solemnly.

"Germany," he said.

Germany turned slowly and looked at the dying country. "…Ja?"

Austria looked up at him with a pained expression, his eyes shimmering with tears. "I don't want to die…" Germany looked at him, dumbfounded. Never before had Austria shown himself to be so weak and helpless. He looked so small…

He continued. "I had never thought about it… I'm afraid… Of what will happen…"

Germany kneeled down next to him and gripped his arm softly, stroking it reassuringly with his thumb. "It's going to be okay. You won't feel any more pain."

Austria nodded, his throat trembling as he tried not to burst into tears. "I've always… Seen you as a brother…" he said.

Germany swallowed, his eyes misty. He couldn't believe this. He'd never seen Austria swallow his pride like this. Never. "That's funny," he said, grinning slightly, "Because I've always seen you as a father."

Austria smiled, his eyes beginning to droop. "It's… Peaceful…" he said, "I hear… Music…"

Germany smiled, rubbing Austria's shoulder as he watched him die. "Remember to ask Beethoven if he's German or Austrian."

Austria would have chuckled if he had the energy. "Wiedersehen, Bruder…"

Germany smiled again, almost tearing up. "Wiedersehen… Vater…"

Austria's lips curled ever so slightly at the corners. His chest expanded as he inhaled one final breath with his last ounce of strength, and then fell as the air hissed slowly from his mouth.

Germany solemnly closed Austria's eyes. He was dead.

The somber storm outside swirled above the house. Thunder echoed through the grayscale Austrian horizon, proclaiming the fall of the great nation, as Germany and Hungary mourned, and Italy hid from his own monstrous self. The three of them bathed quietly in the desolate sorrow, as the world around them kept on turning, slowly, as it had long before any of them had been born, and as it would long after they all were gone.


	8. Part 8

There was a knock on the big doors of the dark house, drowned out by the horrid wails of the angry winds and rain. When no one answered, the door opened, slowly at first, and was then thrown open by the wind as a streak of lightning flashed across the sky, thunder shattering the furious air. In the doorway stood a man with chin-length blonde hair, draped in a heavy raincoat over his military suit, drenched in rain and mud. His face was half-covered by a scarf and his eyes were pressed shut to keep the bullets of rain out of them. On his head was a white soldier's hat, which he held tightly to his head with one hand. With the other, he carefully pulled his scarf away from his mouth as he opened his bright green eyes. Looking into the dark, gloomy house with a serious face, his eyes squinted through the rain; he wondered if he should enter. After a long while of surveying the inside, Switzerland walked inside, closing the door.

"Austria?" he called out, taking off his scarf, "Hungary?" After removing his scarf, he also undid and removed his raincoat, putting both items, as well as his hat, on the coat rack to the side. He looked around warily, a look of pain growing on his face. "Oh, Lord," he said to himself, "Please don't let it be true…"

He made his way slowly up the stairs, hesitating periodically, as worry grew within him. He kept remembering the call he had gotten from one of his men; the words kept replaying themselves in his mind.

_"I'm very sorry, sir…" the general said, "This must be traumatizing for you."_

"…Why would it be?" Switzerland asked.

"Well… He was your good friend."

"Was_ my good friend. It was… Complicated."_

"…You do sound a bit upset," said the general.

"I'm… Not upset!" said Switzerland, "I have no reason to be. I don't really care about that piano-playing-pansy anymore…"

"Very well…" the general said, "But, if you need, you can take leave for a while. We can take care of your sister, as well."

"I don't need to take leave," Switzerland said, "I really don't need to."

"…I know you, Switzerland," the general said, as if he had seen him rub his eye, "Please… Take leave just for a while. Courtesy of the Swiss Army."

Switzerland was silent for a few moments. After thinking for a while, he spoke. "…Okay. Thank you…"

"You're welcome," said the general, "And again, I'm truly sorry for your loss."

The words still echoed in his mind. He couldn't remember the last time he had been told that. His heart grew heavy as he reached the top of the stairs. After pausing for a while, he continued, walking slowly and carefully across the hall. Paintings hung on the walls, lining the dark hallway with their ghostly memories. He couldn't stand to look at some of them, for they were portraits of… Him.

Switzerland finally got to the end of the hall, facing the music room. After taking a deep breath, he entered, and saw the remains of the totaled piano, which were soaked in blood. He approached the murder scene, his face emotionless. He felt numb inside as he kneeled beside the splinters of wood, which were tangled in the broken steel strings, and littered with some of the piano's ivory keys, which had fallen off in its destruction. He carefully touched some of the blood on the splintered wood, and as it stuck to his fingers, he reckoned it was still somewhat fresh.

"Austria…" he said in a melancholy voice. The broken piano remained, but Austria's body was no longer there. Switzerland guessed that Hungary had probably removed it. He inspected the scene more, moving bits of the piano to look for anything interesting. "Suits the guy well," he said, "Music _was_ all he ever thought of…" He suddenly spotted something white, which was crushed under part of the piano and splattered in blood. "Hm?" Switzerland lifted the piece of wood, discovering that the object was a music booklet that had most likely fallen off the piano's music rack and had been crushed in the incident. He picked up the tattered booklet, and upon reading the cover saw that it was titled "Greatest Numbers of Beethoven, Bach and Mozart; Piano Edition; Volume 3." However, when he proceeded to open it, another smaller booklet fell out into the pool of blood.

"Hullo," Switzerland said out of surprise and curiosity, picking up the other booklet, "What is this…?" he found that it was in fact sheet music, scribbled on and edited over and over again. At the top, it was entitled "Feier des Schicksals" or "Fate's Celebration," "A duet composed by Roderich Edelstein." Switzerland was a bit shocked and surprised. All the nations barely used their human names, as they were filled with honor and respect. Human names tended to downsize them; they made them seem vulnerable. So why was Austria using his human name on something to be published? Switzerland thought to himself. Then again, Austria _had_ always been the most human country he had known. _I'd always have to save his sorry ass,_ he thought, _because he was too much of a pansy—too much of a human—to fight back._ Guilt throbbed inside him, and memories poured into his head once again… Memories of his childhood, when he was very young.

_It seemed not long ago at all, though it was truly hundreds of years ago, that he sat beside his best friend and faithful ally on the edge of a balcony high above the streets of Vienna. Austria was still scratched and bruised, as he had been picked on by young Prussia earlier._

It was very silent between the two as Austria sat in shame and Switzerland stared blankly out to the city. After a while, he grunted. "Why is it always me who is saving you?" he said sternly.

Austria was quiet, except for a small whimper he let out after a few moments.

"Seriously," Switzerland said, "Why am I always saving you? Why can't you save me every once in a while or something?"

"…It never really seems like you need saving," Austria said, "You're so good at fighting…"

Switzerland was quiet for a few moments, and then sighed. "I may be a good fighter, but I'm not invincible… I have my moments…" He looked at Austria. "I need saving sometimes too, you know…"

Austria looked up at him, his little face nicked with scratches and abrasions, his big, indigo eyes shimmering innocently in the orange light of the sunset. "I wouldn't know… You alwaysseem_ invincible…"_

Switzerland sighed. "Well, I'm not." He looked out across the horizon, watching as the setting sun lit up the clouds in dazzling arrays of purple and red. "Sometimes… Sometimes as countries, we forget that we aren't invulnerable. Countries or not… We can still get hurt. We can still die."

Austria grabbed Switzerland's tiny hand and squeezed it tight. "I don't want to die…"

Switzerland looked at him again. He looked so helpless… As usual… But now, he just looked pitifully scared. "Don't worry," he said, "Unlike humans, countries can't die of old age. They have to be killed in order to die. And as long as we're friends and you stay healthy, I'll make sure you're alright. It takes an awful lot to kill a country, anyway… Plus, a country's instinct is to take over, but not to kill. You're fine, Austria."

Austria loosened his grip on Switzerland's hand a little.

"Hm." Switzerland looked down at all the humans roaming the streets, going about their business. "Humans…" he said, "It's kind of sad when you think about it. Our duty is to take care of them and ensure that they are safe, yet we are to live on through thousands, maybe millions one day, of their lifetimes, as they just come and go like the blades of grass that grow on our land. We serve them just so that they can live and die within us. They go, but we will always remain."

"But the humans serve us as well," said Austria, grinning slightly, "They fight for us just as we fight for them. They lift us up, organize us and enable us to do… Just about everything."

Switzerland thought. "I guess you're right."

"Humans and countries live off each other. Neither could live without the other," Austria said. "Plus, I love my humans. They're all like me in some way, no matter how diverse they are."

Switzerland looked down at all the Austrians below bustling about, taking in their gestures and actions. His friend was right; they all did seem to resemble Austria in some way, even though they were all so different. Each of these humans made Austria who he was, just as each of his own humans made him who he_ was. He grinned slightly. "You're right."_

There was a long silence, in which Switzerland and Austria stared out together over the horizon, watching the sun slowly sink below the mountains in the distance. In the dim light of the day's last breaths, they inhaled the sweet breezes rolling off the Alps before them, which ran through both of their lands as if to fasten them together.

"Switzerland…?" Austria spoke up quietly after a while.

"…Yes?" said Switzerland.

"Do you think…" Austria began, "Do you think that countries can become humans?"

Switzerland was quiet for a while as he thought to himself. He'd never thought about it before. "No," he said, "I don't think so… I mean… But I think one can become like_ a human… If their spirit became too weak…"_

"I wonder what it would be like," Austria said, "To be human, and not to have to live on as a country through so many lifetimes… It sounds… Scary. Knowing that your time on earth is limited…"

Switzerland thought to himself, and then sighed. "It sure does."

His stomach churned as he remembered that moment with a heavy heart. Switzerland hadn't been paying much attention to where he was going exactly as he walked down the dark, abandoned halls of Austria's house, but his heart had guided him to where he hoped it would take him. Sure enough, he found the heavy doors of the room he still remembered so vividly. They were very dusty, and he suspected they hadn't been toughed for centuries. He pushed on the doors, and after a few moments of their hesitation from not having been open for the longest time, they finally creaked open, revealing a very old, very dusty room covered in cobwebs. The room was filled with old instruments, most of them covered with old sheets. Dead bugs littered the floor, and there may have been one or two dead rats in there as well. The room clearly hadn't been touched in a very long time. This was Austria's old music room, the one he had used when he and Switzerland were friends.

"I hope it's still here," Switzerland said, lifting sheets to see what was underneath each of them, besides spiders and dead moths. Memories plagued him yet again as nostalgia washed over him.

_"There," Switzerland groaned as he placed one end of the heavy instrument on the floor against the wall, "But seriously, do you really need to learn to play another instrument?"_

"I've been playing the violin for ages," Austria said after he placed his end of the instrument on the floor, proceeding to lean lavishly against the wall, "It's about time I took up something else, and this new instrument should be perfect. It's called a piano. It was hand-crafted by the Medici family in Italy and invented by Bartolomeo Cristofori. It's styled very similar to a clavichord or harpsichord, and I am a fairly good harpsichord player if I do say so myself. This should be a breeze for me to learn."

"Whatever…" Switzerland said, "Now can I leave?" I don't know why you wanted me_ to help you carry it… But speaking of Italy, what are you and Spain planning to do about the two Italy brothers now that the Italian Wars are over?"_

"We're still deciding on it," Austria said, not paying much attention as he ran his dainty fingers over the glossy wood of the piano, "But from what I've seen so far, I favor North Italy." He carefully brought his fingers down and along the sleek, ivory keys, and with hesitation at first, slowly and carefully pressed down the middle C, letting the gorgeous instrument produce a soft, beautiful note that sand out and seemed to rattle his very core. He closed his eyes and smiled, just playing that one note over and over, as it flowed in through him like breath, like life. Though it was very hard to admit, Switzerland watched as his former friend seemed to take in life from the beautiful new instrument… That one C seemed to flow into his veins as if it were made for him… And Switzerland couldn't help but be somewhat awestruck as he watched that man bond with the instrument. They seemed as if they were one from the beginning… And no matter how much had come between them over the years, and how much he refused to admit it, deep down, Switzerland felt happy that Austria had made a new friend. 

He looked somberly down at the centuries-old piano in front of him, which he had whipped an old sheet off of. It was so small compared to Austria's old ebony-black piano, yet so much more sentimental. Its light tan wood was no longer smooth or glossy, and it was covered in dust and cobwebs. He carefully brushed it and blew the dust off its side, revealing a Latin phrase inscribed onto it:

BARTHOLOMAEUS DE CHRISTOPHORIS PATAVINUS INVENTOR FACIEBAT FLORENTIAE II/IV/MDCXCVIII

This was what he had been looking for. The long-lost fourth Cristofori Piano alive today: Austria's first piano.

It had been centuries since Austria had last used this piano. Switzerland wasn't sure why, but he guessed that it was because he had gotten other better pianos since then, including the black full grand that had killed him, his favorite one. However, knowing his ex-friend, he probably hadn't touched this room for some reason involving past memories haunting hum. He'd never know; Austria was one of the hardest countries to relate to, seeing as he'd always be meddling with human affairs, always baking and playing music, like he was one of them… He had always been the closest to the humans as if they'd understand him and see into his own life… As if he _was_ human. Then, it finally hit him. Switzerland's eyebrows lowered as he realized it. Maybe, deep down inside him… Austria had _wanted_ to be human. Frustration grew inside him and his nose wrinkled as his eyes filled with tears.

"You son of a bitch," he said angrily stroking the piano's top board, "You got what you always wanted… Now how does it feel?!" He put his hand to his head. It wasn't exactly anger that he was feeling, now that he thought of it… At least, not toward Austria. There was definitely guilt in there… But for what? What had he done that was so bad? He and Austria had been so close when they were young that they were practically seen as one. He didn't _want_ to be included in a packaged deal! He wanted to be his own country, was that so bad?! And they had _both_ separated as allies; it wasn't just his fault! Oh dear _God, why_ was he plagued with so much _guilt?!_

And the anger he did feel inside, why was it not toward Austria? It was Austria's own fault, his constant warring within himself between country and human, and his death caused by the very instrument he had loved and obsessed over so much— Oh, the _irony!_ The _irony_ of how he was killed by what he loved, in _more than one way!_

Switzerland's head spun faster and faster just as the Earth spun on its axis. Was this it? Had he _finally_ found his way into his former best friend's heart, after all these years? He grew dizzy, found it hard to breathe, nausea sat like a stone inside his stomach… As he looked around the room in pure, sheer guilt, the instruments stared at him with a look of hatred… Oh, how horrible it was, to finally let out the truth after swallowing it down for so many years… How horrible yet wonderful it was, to feel it rise inside him and to finally force it out through his mouth; _he was angry at himself!_

He punched the wall with all his might, as if to stamp his confession for all to see. It was a wonderful yet horrid feeling, finally letting out all his frustration and despair. He looked around the room once more, and the instruments no longer sought hatred toward him. He felt horrible regret for not ever being there before his old friend's demise, and felt sorrow hanging desperate in his heart, reminding him what he'd done. As a single tear rolled slowly down his cheek and stayed there, he looked down at the sheet music he still held in his hand. Then, he placed it on the music rack of the old piano and opened its top board to inspect the strings. After tuning the small piano to a fair quality, he sat down on the bench Austria had placed before it hundreds of years ago. Switzerland looked up, determined, at the first bar, and after a moment of hesitation, began to play, starting with a lone yet triumphant middle C. The sound flowed into him, ringing warmly inside his heart. He was surprised… No, proud, as the single note made its way into him and seemed to dance happily inside him, as if to say hello. He continued playing, and as more notes flowed into him, swimming freely around and within him, it seemed as the piano was thanking him for finally playing it—no—her, after a long, long time. Her joy and gratitude swam around him, and throughout the whole house, surprisingly loud for such an old, small piano. She lived once more, singing to him, _through_ him, louder and more triumphant than ever before. All the noted, no matter how diverse, came together to make the song what it was… Just as every human came together to make a country who they were. Switzerland's regret still stung within him, but he smiled as joy and remembrance began to swell in his heart, slowly overcoming it. And then, about halfway through the song, he shed another tear. This tear rolled down his cheek to join the first, and together, they dripped onto the old, ivory keys.

…And as they did, Switzerland heard another piano… The other half of the duet. When its beautiful, glorious music joined him as well, he smiled widely, feeling the joy bubble up inside him until he couldn't hold it any longer, and he let it out in a brilliant, joyful laugh.

Two pianos played on through the stormy night… Two friends reunited after centuries apart.


	9. Part 9

"No!" Italy wailed, the chains of his handcuffs jingling behind him as he was shoved through the front door of England's house by Germany, "You can't just lock me up! _No!_"

"Stop whining," England barked, loading the pistol he had grabbed earlier, "Frankly, by this point, it's just rather annoying."

Italy's eyes widened at the sight of the gun, but Germany stepped in front of him. "I told you, England, you won't need that gun! We aren't going to shoot Italy."

"That's what you said about locking me up!" Italy squealed, "You told Austria you weren't going to do this!"

"You _killed_Austria!" Germany bellowed angrily, "You've killed two countries and I'm not letting you kill anymore! Locking you up is the only thing that will keep the rest of us safe!"

"Oh, for Heaven's sake," Hungary said, coming in through the door and snatching Germany's keys, "At least take these wretched cuffs off him…" She unlocked the cuffs and took them off Italy's hands, letting him free. "Seriously, Germany, can't you see he's scared? Tsk… Ok… And his wrists are chafed, too, poor baby…" She then began to wipe his forehead.

"Hungary," Germany said loudly, "Aren't you angry at him? He just killed Austria!"

"He's still scared!" Hungary said, "He didn't kill him intentionally!"

"It looked pretty intentional to me," Germany said, "Seeing as he full-on attacked him!"

"It wasn't him!"

"It _was_him! You weren't even there!"

"There's something _wrong_ with him!" Hungary screamed, her face red and her eyes filled with tears. Her scream rang throughout the house and everyone was silent. "This isn't my baby," she said, "This is _not_Italy. Whether it's schizophrenia, some mental disease, just, whatever it is, this is something beyond his control."

"…Then we must put him under _our_control," Germany said.

"I agree that he should be contained," Hungary said, and then sniffed as she began to cry. "Just be nice to my baby…"

Germany looked into Hungary's eyes. Her relationship with Italy was a peculiar one among countries. He'd never seen this about her before, at least not for a long time, but she was like a mother to Italy. Up until he had gained independence from Austria, he had been like her son.

"You thought he was a girl," Germany said.

"…So?" said Hungary.

Germany thought. "…You _dressed_him, how did you not know he was a boy?"

"It was… Complicated; I've always had trouble with genders – how do you know I thought he was a girl?"

"That's not the point now," Germany said, "England, let's get Italy downstairs."

"Right," said England, putting his gun into its case on his belt. "Come on, then."

"Please," Italy said as Germany took him by the arm.

"I'm sorry, Italy," Germany said, "It's what's best for everyone." He leaned back to Hungary. "By the way," he said, "What did you end up doing with Austria's body?"

"Actually," Hungary said, "I've been meaning to talk to you about that… It disappeared."

"Disappeared…?" Germany said, shocked, "What do you mean?"

"Just that," Hungary replied, "I went to get it and it was already gone." She sipped up the raincoat she was wearing ant turned to leave. "I know you want me here, but I need to go back and look for it, or at least find out what happened. He was my husband."

Germany nodded. "We'll take care of Italy."

"You'd better," Hungary said as she walked out, closing the door behind her.

When Germany and England reached the dungeon below England's house, a shrill, well-known voice rang out.

"_Dudes!_" America cried as he ran up to them, "It's totally sick down here! Yo, Britain, why do you have a dungeon under your house?" He winked suspiciously.

England sighed. "Relax, America," he said, "It's from hundreds of years ago. I haven't used it in the longest time and that's why I asked you and France to prepare it."

"Prepare it for what?" France said excitedly, appearing almost out of nowhere. "Have you finally opened yourself up to the beauty of the human body? And am _I_involved?"

England's face turned red and he stiffened up. "No, you perverted little twat! How could you think it's for anything like that at all?!"

"Well," America said, pointing up his index finger, "With yaoi fangirls, anything can seem perverted!"

"And just where the bloody hell are the yaoi fangirls?!"

America looked around cautiously and then motioned for England to come closer. When he did, he whispered into his ear. "They're everywhere."

"Anyway…" England said, slightly disturbed, "The reason I need this dungeon is for what I called you about earlier. Italy has killed Spain and Austria…"

"WHAT?" France screamed, "Austria?! Spain?! You didn't tell me who it was!" His mood had fallen almost immediately. "Spain… Oh, he had been an ally of mine in many wars… And though we had our difficulties, he had been like a brother to me… Oh, I wonder how Prussia will feel when I tell him the Bad Touch Trio is now a duo…"

"Bad _Friends_Trio," England said, irritated.

"…Right," said France, "And then, Austria… Oh, he was so beautiful! The way he played always made me swoon at his window…"

The other three stared at him awkwardly. He looked back at them. "Well, crap."

"Is that what you were doing when we were arguing about Beethoven?" Germany asked awkwardly.

France shot an anxious look at him. "…I was spying for military reasons."

"Never mind that…" Germany said, "Is the cell ready?"

Italy gulped, beginning to sweat anxiously.

"Just about," America said, scratching his head. "You can go ahead and throw him in."

"Throw?!" Italy squealed.

"…It's just an expression, Italy…" Germany said, "One that didn't need to be used." He glared at America, and then led Italy to the cell. The dungeon was dark and gloomy, its walls and floors made of stone and cement. The cells were made of old-fashioned iron and iron bars, and the only light came from dim light bulbs hanging from the ceiling. Italy guessed that it also doubled as a wine cellar, because on one end, there was an inventory of wine barrels and racks of bottles. He didn't want to be kept down here. It was a horrible place for him.

"_No!_" he cried, "Please, don't put me in here! Don't do this to me! I don't want to stay locked in here for God knows how long!"

"I'm so sorry, Italy," Germany said, "But until you can stop this insanity… I can't let you be a threat to everyone else."

"No!" Italy screamed, "I'll stop! I won't let it happen again! I won't! I promise!"

"I'm sorry," Germany said, leading Italy into the cell that had been prepared, "But this has gone too far." He closed the heavy iron door and locked Italy in. Italy gripped the iron bars that were built into the top half of the door. His eyes filled with tears.

"Please don't do this," he said, "It's not my fault… Please!"

Germany looked at him with guilt, but turned and faced the others. "I still can't fully tryst him down here. I'll need someone to look after him down here. I'll need someone to look after him. France, you can do that."

France nodded. "I'll do what I must, Capitan…"

"Danke. The rest of you, come with me." Germany headed toward the stairs without a further look at Italy.

Before England left, he looked at Italy pitifully. "Here's to you, old chap…" He then somberly turned and left.

America stood before Italy as well. "Spain and Austria…" He said, "Wow… I wasn't too close to them, but dude… This is weird…" He looked down sullenly and then followed England and Germany.

"Wait," Italy said, "Don't leave me here! Please! Don't do this! Please…" Tears dripped from his cheeks and he removed his hands from the iron bars, retreating against the wall and slouching down.

France approached the door and looked at Italy pitifully. However, he began to grin almost deviously. "Oh, Italy, I believe it wasn't your fault."

Italy looked up hopefully. "You do?"

"Oh, of _course!_" France said joyfully, leaning with one hand against the side of the cell door. "You didn't _mean_to kill those countries. It was an accident, no?"

"I think," Italy said, looking down.

"You don't deserve to be locked up in there, Italy…" France said softly, "You are innocent… Well, on the outside. On the inside…" He grinned seductively. "You're… Bold, daring, feisty…"

Italy looked up at him awkwardly.

"It's a shame, really," England sighed as they reached the top of the stairs and stood in his kitchen, "How such a peaceful country could escalate to this… I'll go put on some tea."

"Italy could hardly do anything in wars before, "America said, "And now he's suddenly killing them without meaning to?" Dude… That's just not right. Yo, Germany, what's up, man? You've seemed wicked upset since you got here."

"…I'm fine," Germany said, "But… Why aren't you two more… Emotional, about Austria's death?"

"…What about Spain?" England said.

"Huh?" said Germany, "What about him?"

"You only mentioned Austria…"

"Oh," Germany said, "Did I? That was dumb of me. I thought I mentioned Spain."

America and England exchanged confused looks. "Okay…" England said, "Well, I'll go put the kettle on, as I said." He went to do so. "And I guess, we just weren't as close to Spain and Austria. We both don't share the same mainland and haven't had as much contact with them in history as you have."

"Yeah," America said, "Plus, that Austria dude started World War I!"

Germany tensed up. "No," he said, "He didn't, really."

"…What do you mean?" England said as he poured water into a kettle.

Germany was quiet for a few moments, and then spoke. "You see, Austria and Hungary had been arguing close to the end of their marriage. It had to do with a young nation named Serbia whom Hungary had wanted to take into their household, but Austria opposed. He thought that Serbia would only bring problems into the house. He didn't trust Serbia… And when a human from Serbia shot the archduke and his wife, that is when they had had enough of each other and wanted to separate. However… They came to me to ask what to do, whether they should go to war or not…"

"And you said yes?" America asked.

"…No," Germany said, "I said they could do what they wanted. And it turned out that they wanted to go to war. But then… it wasn't just them. Everyone had grown tense and paranoid and soon almost all of Europe and even some of Asia were drawn into the war. And then America pulled himself into it, for what reason I am unsure of…"

All eyes drifted to America. He stared back at the others awkwardly. "What? I just wanted to help!"

Germany shrugged him off. "Anyway, you both know the rest. We were all driven into war… For next to no reason. I could have stopped that war… I could have told Austria and Hungary to sort it out peacefully. But I was so different then… The war started because of me. I was blamed for the war, and it was right for me to be blamed! Almost every major war in my existence was started by me. I regret so much…" He clenched his fist angrily.

England came over with three cups of tea on a plate, and handed two of them to Germany and America. "It's not entirely your fault," he said, "We all have some fault in things like that. We've all made mistakes, but we've learned from them as well. Don't worry… A country's life is naturally very stressful and we can't be expected to make the right choices all the time."

"But it seems like I never make the right choices," Germany said angrily.

England put a hand on Germany's shoulder. "It seems like that for all of us sometimes… Trust me."

"Not for me!" said America, "Hahahaha!"

England stared at him. "Yes, but the rest of the world thinks that for you."

"Hey!" America barked, "If anyone has made mistakes, it's you! Oh yeah, _thanks_for One Direction! Why couldn't you just have bombed us? It would have been quicker and easier for the both of us!"

"Shut up!" England snapped, "You wouldn't know good music if it hit you square in the face!"

Germany hopelessly watched the two argue. It was past midnight and he hadn't slept the night before, and frankly, this tea was putting him to sleep. He sat there, feeling the tea warm his stomach as he drank it, staring up at the two without even hoping to break them up. He was much too tired, and as he thought about it, he realized it was actually somewhat entertaining.

"You think _my_tastes in music are bad?" America said, "My music is the best in the world!"

"Ha!" England said, "This coming from the home of Britney Spears."

"She's a pop legend!" America said, "Obviously you haven't even heard her!"

"I wrote Yankee Doodle to _insult_ you," England said, "And you made it a national icon. _That_isn't bad taste in music?"

"Ah—" America started to say something, but stopped. "At least we can probably both be glad Justin Bieber doesn't come from us."

"…Definitely," England said.

"Uhm…" said a quiet voice from the corner, "I take offense to that…" It was Canada, standing quietly behind them.

"Canada, bro," America said, surprised, "When did you get here?"

"I've been here the whole time," he said shyly, "Don't you remember? I helped with the cell and everything… But didn't get to do much because you guys didn't really notice me at all…"

"Dude," America said, "Where's that polar bear thing you always have with you?"

"You mean Mr. Kumajiro?" Canada said, "…He refused to come with me because he was taught not to go with strangers…"

There was a long silence as the clock ticked quietly in the kitchen.

"Wow," America said.

"You've always been such an adorable little country," France said to Italy, stroking the bars of his cell gently.

"Go away, France," Italy said weakly.

"Oh," France said, grinning deviously, "But why would I do that? I was ordered to watch over you, and watch over you I shall…"

"Please go away," Italy said, backing up against the wall, "I'm not in the mood!:

"But come on," said France, "Don't you think you'll get lonely in there? Don't you want some company? I can come here every night… I can keep you company. What have you got to lose? You are single at the moment, no? Come on, Italy…" He put his hand through the bars, holding it out to him with a devilish grin. "No one needs to know…"

Italy stood up, beginning to panic. "Please! Just leave me alone, France! I don't feel that way toward you!"

"But you could," France said seductively, "With just one touch… You could become one with me… I can take all of this insanity away, with just a touch of my body… Just one touch…"

Italy began to hyperventilate. His fingers twitched and he began to sweat. His heart pulsed rapidly. Suddenly, he felt something jolt through him, and he screamed in pain, rage and terror as he rammed full-speed into the door, smashing it not just open but outward, its hinges breaking like elastic, carrying France with it. The heavy iron door shot off the doorway of the cell at an astounding speed, and with a loud _clang_, it collided with the stone wall, crushing France with a stomach-wrenching cracking sound as his ribs snapped. He let out one wail in extreme pain as his chest collapsed, and then his head fell against the iron bars as his body landed in a limp, lifeless heap between the floor and the wall, underneath the iron door, which was now covered in blood. Italy's eyes widened, terrified, but this time he had no time for regret.

"What the hell was that?!" Germany bellowed above the dungeon in England's kitchen. All four of the countries hurried down England's stairs once more. When they reached the dungeon, they all gasped. Canada covered his mouth and held his stomach.

"France!" England cried out, panicked and stunned.

"Dude, sick!" America said, looking at France's crushed body. Blood was smeared across the floor and splattered on the wall, and France lay in a pool of blood that was still pouring from his mouth and the ribs that stuck out of his skin. It was a very brutal scene.

England tried to lift the door off France, but could not. "It's far too heavy," he said, "Germany, help me!"

Germany did so and helped England pull the door off France's body. It was dripping with blood, and as they placed it on the floor, Germany saw that the inner lock mechanism of the cell door had been completely obliterated and parts of it were strewn across the floor.

"Mein _gott_," Germany said, "He smashed the entire door off its hinges!"

"France, wake up! England said urgently, shaking him forcefully. "This is no time to be dramatic! Wake _up!_"

"…Wow," America said, "Italy is strong… How did he _do_that? He's even stronger than me!"

"Shut up, America!" said England, "This isn't the time to be arrogant either!"

America's face grew pale. "I… Just… Gah! Sorry!" He rushed to France as well. "France! No! Stay with us, buddy!"

"I can't believe this," Canada said, his fingers anxiously gripping his head under his golden hair, not wanting to get to close to the body, "France… He _can't_be dead!" Tears came to his eyes and pooled under his glasses. "No!"

"I… Don't know what to say…" England said, "I have always fought with him… Always hated him… But… Now I feel like I needed him. I never wanted him to _die!_" Tears rolled from his emerald green eyes. "Please… Get up, France, you big fat frog! Don't _die _on me!" he shook France's body again, truing to wake him up.

"You can go into denial later," Germany yelled, looking at the group in urgency and fear, "Where is Italy?!"

Italy climbed breathlessly up a hill to a cliff on the southeastern English coast, and looked out at the churning English Channel as the wind howled mournfully in the distance. Over the horizon, he could see a tiny sliver of the northern coast of France, lightning flashing above and thunder echoing far off. He shook with fatigue, trauma, and the chill of the harsh winds, and as he looked down at his hands, the menacing hands that had killed now three countries, he couldn't help but scream into the distance, a cry of pain and despair, as lightning leapt across the sky before him… But the cry ended with a crazed yet paranoid laugh. He felt scared and pained… Yet also felt some kind of new, sick pleasure.


	10. Part 10

_Sorry this one was so late, guys! I've been busy with school and work, but I'm still writing! Don't worry! ^^_

_-Purple_

* * *

"So," said Belgium as she walked with Romano through her sunny gardens, the birds chirping happily in the bushes and trees, "What do you plan on doing now, then?" she looked up at him from where she had been staring quietly at the ground.

"I don't really know," said Romano, staring forward as he walked, "I guess I'll stay around here for a while. I don't want to see my brother for a long time… And he tried to kill me as well…"

"I still don't understand," Belgium said, "Why did he kill Spain? Why would he even want to kill you?"

"No one understands," Romano replied, "But there is something wrong with him. There has to be. There is no other reason he would want to _kill_ someone… There's no other reason why he'd be _able_to kill someone! That jackass…"

"I wonder if he is alright," Belgium said.

"Why would you worry about _him_?" Romano seemed slightly insulted.

Belgium looked at him sternly. "The poor boy must be scared to death of what's happening."

"How could you take his side?!" Romano barked, "He killed Spain, and who knows what else he could have done by now? Why would _he_ feel any remorse? Why would _he_be any more innocent than Hitler having a threesome with Al Capone and Bin Laden?"

Belgium stared at him. "Thank you for giving me that wonderful image."

"That jerk killed Spain and I will never forgive him," said Romano. He swallowed hard and looked at the ground before him, no longer walking. "I've decided to separate from him again… Willingly, this time."

"Oh, Romano," Belgium said pitifully, "I understand your motives, but is there really any need for civil war?"

"It's not a civil war," Romano said, "I'm separating without another word. There will be no fighting and no war between us. I'm just… Giving up on him."

"I see," said Belgium.

"What," Romano said, "Does that bother you or something? Do you have a problem with that? Huh?"

"Don't get so grumpy," Belgium snapped, "I have no opinion on it. These are your own country affairs and I have no business with them."

"…Sorry," Romano sighed. "I… I guess I'm just used to people hating on everything I do, telling me to stop or calm down…" He put his hand to his head and sat down on a garden benchnearby. "I must be losing it…"

"You're not losing it," Belgium said, sitting next to him, "You're just stressed. Countries' lives are stressful enough as it is, and you've got even more going on at the moment. I mean… Your own brother…" She sighed. "That must be very hard to deal with."

"I've seen thousands… Millions of deaths," Romano said, "We all have… The countless deaths of our citizens and soldiers… But none of them compare to the death of a country… Especially Spain…"

Belgium patted his shoulder. "It's okay," she said, "You have a lot to digest right now… But… Things will get better. They have to."

Romano looked at her with a slight, weak smile on his lips and glazed, tired eyes. "Belgium," he said quietly, "…Thank you for being here for me. I don't get to see you much anymore… but whenever I do, I forget how understanding you are. I always expect to be snapped at or scolded for my behavior… But… I know it's my fault. I just… Ugh, I get so angry at people sometimes… And at myself…"

"It's just the way you are," Belgium said, "Italians, especially in Rome, are famous for being loud and rude."

"That's not helping," Romano growled.

"…Right," said Belgium. She scratched her head. "Sorry."

Romano sighed. After a few minutes, he yawned.

"You must be exhausted," said Belgium.

"It's been two days since Spain was killed," he said, "I haven't slept since then."

Belgium seemed surprised. "Why not?"

Romano looked at her with a pained expression. "I had been mourning Spain."

"I see," Belgium said, "But he's at rest now… He's at peace, right?"

Romano was silent.

"…Yes?"

He looked at Belgium, his face paling slightly. "His body… It…" He swallowed. "Before I could bury him, it… It was gone."

Belgium was shocked. "Gone?! What do you mean?"

"I turned my back for a few minutes just to get supplies… And he was gone. I don't know what could have happened…"

"Are you sure he was dead?" Belgium asked.

"He was definitely dead, Belgium!" Romano spat, "His heart was ripped out of his freaking throat!"

"Okay," Belgium said, eyebrows lowered, "You don't have to yell."

Romano held his head. "I don't know where his body could have gone. I don't know what happened." Tears began to drip from his eyes. "I didn't even get to bury him… Who knows where his body is now? Oh, God… I'm such a failure… I always have been… No wonder Veneziano has always been favored by everyone over me…" He wrinkled his nose, frustrated.

"Don't say that," Belgium said, rubbing his shoulder reassuringly, "It wasn't your fault at all, whatever happened to him. I mean, it's not like you could have known he would just vanish like that…"

Romano sniffed. "I guess…"

Belgium sighed sympathetically. "Why don't you rest for a few minutes? You must be very tired…"

"No," said Romano, eyes drooping, "I shouldn't…"

"Come on," Belgium said, "You need it. At least rest for a little while… Please."

Romano rubbed his eyes, which were slightly sunken and decked with dark circles from his lack of sleep. "Fine," he said, "But… I'm not going to fall asleep. I just need to relax for a moment…"

He reclined against the bench and stared blankly, his eyes slowly blinking. Their lids were heavy as lead, Romano felt… He hadn't been this tired for a long time.

"Thank you," Belgium said, grinning slightly. "Rest… You need it…"

_"Nooo Spain, you stupid bastard! Don't just leave me here!" Young Romano clung to Spain's leg, barely tall enough to reach his thigh._

Spain trudged toward the front of his house, trying to shake the small child off him. "I'm not just leaving you! You have Belgium here to take care of you!"

"Only an idiot like you would leave a girl in charge of me! I don't want to stay with a stupid girl for God knows how long you'll be gone!"

"It should only be a little while," said Spain. "Prussia and France need my help to attack Austria. He's not going to put up much of a fight, so it really shouldn't be long!"

"Don't just leave me! Please!" Romano wailed, "You can't do this, I'm just a little kid!"

"You can go without me for a little while," Spain snapped finally shaking Romano off his leg, "Ay… Whenever I'm here, you say you hate me and tell me to leave you alone, but the second I leave, you won't let me. You're such a confusing child…" he turned to leave.

"No!" Romano squealed, "Don't leave me, Spain, you

bastard!_"_

"Belgium will take care of you," Spain said, marching off without looking back.

Tears filled Romano's big, hazel eyes. "No… You're so stupid…" He sniffed.

"It'll be okay, little Italia," Belgium said, picking little Romano up in her arms, "I'm going to take good care of you."

Romano couldn't help but blush whenever he saw her face. "Don't call me by my first name," he said grumpily, "Call me Romano… And…" He wanted to order her to put him down, but he swallowed the words before they could come out.

"And what?" Belgium asked, beaming happily as she held him.

"And get me out of the shade, signorina. I'm freaking freezing…"

Belgium giggled. "Alright, whatever you say."

As she carried him gently, Romano, face bright red, couldn't help but be confused. He'd never had difficulty yelling at someone like that before. Was there something wrong with him? In fact, he was not freezing at all. He was actually quite warm. Was he getting sick or something? He didn't trust Belgium… But unlike everyone else, deep inside, he almost wanted to.

"Is this better?" Belgium asked when she brought Romano out into the sun of Spain's vast backyard.

Romano was now even hotter than before, and had this been Spain, he would have given him hell. However, the words and even the thought of telling Belgium off were lost, and he nodded. "Si, it's much better."

Belgium smiled brightly. "Well, then," she said, "Would you like to play a game with me?"

Romano blushed a bit. He was confused; had this been Spain, he would have told him to get lost. However, he felt he actually

wanted_to play this time. "What kind of game?" he said stiffly._

"It's called Crossage," Belgium said, "It's a traditional game I enjoy quite a lot." She beamed and turned, picking up an elongated sack and untying the string that tied it shut. She took out two long, wooden clubs with metal heads and a small wooden ball about the size of a grapefruit. "These are crosses," she said, holding up the clubs, "And this is a soulette." She held up the ball, and then put it on the ground in front of Romano. "You take the crosse and try to hit the soulette toward a target." She looked out over the few acres of Spain's backyard, and pointed toward a large boulder. "That rock can be the target." She handed Romano one of the heavy crosses, and he looked at it curiously. Belgium smiled down at him encouragingly.

Romano looked at the little wooden soulette, and with a small grunt, swung his crosse at it, knocking it forward. It stopped only a few feet in front of him.

"

Crap!_" Romano barked, "That was stupid! Is this game rigged or something?!"_

Belgium giggled and ran ahead, hitting the soulette out of the way with her own crosse.

"Hey!" Romano yelled, "That's my ball!"

"The opponent can interfere with the player's soulette in Crossage!" Belgium hollered joyfully.

Romano steamed, but gasped as he noticed something—he was smiling. He shook off the darned smile and ran after Belgium. "You get back here! You're going to pay for that!" While sprinting off, he had accidentally let out a small giggle.

Romano, fully grown, now began to awaken. He found that he was resting on something soft and warm, and realized that he had fallen asleep, his head resting on Belgium's lap. He inhaled her sweet scent that had become so nostalgically familiar to him, realizing peacefully as he felt her belly expand and collapse against him with her breathing; she too had fallen asleep. Romano was calmed by her maternal aura, and half-consciously enjoyed lying there, resting on her strong yet delicate legs, hearing through the silence the quiet churning of the beautiful nation's stomach above him.

But then he realized that there was something wrong with that silence. No matter how peaceful it was, he felt there was something different.

_Wait a second,_ he thought, _the birds aren't chirping._

He distinctively remembered hearing birds chirping joyfully in the trees of Belgium's garden, and now he did not hear any at all. Everything was silent. There were no singing birds, no buzzing insects, not even wind or rustling of the leaves. Everything was still and silent, and all he could hear was the sound of Belgium's breathing, the faint growls of her stomach, and his own heartbeat, which seemed to be sounding with more force than ever. Something wasn't right about this silence. He began to open his eyes.

Romano immediately jolted upward in terror and shock, taken aback when his eyes had fallen upon two legs clothed in blue. He didn't have time so much as to gasp before a familiar hand clasped around his throat and yanked him to his feet. As Romano was torn from the bench and pulled into the air, his eyes became level with the coppery eyes he knew so well.

"_Veneziano,_" Romano barked through furiously gritted teeth.

Italy grinned, his fingers shaking as he gripped Romano's throat, "We've been reunited, brother."

The commotion had startled Belgium awake. She looked up at Italy, knowing at once what was happening. "Italy!" she cried, shocked, "Put him down! _Now!_"

"Belgium!" Romano hissed, struggling in Italy's grip, "Get out of here. Run, far away from here! Go!"

Belgium stood, but was unsure of what to do. She paced, conflicted, and stared in shock.

"But why would you leave?" Italy said, eyes wide, "Why would you both leave me like everyone does? I need attention, too! We all do, right, guys?"

Italy looked at Belgium with a frantically hopeful expression. "We all… Need to be loved…" He giggled nervously.

"You killed Spain!" Romano screamed, spitting a bit in Italy's face, "I am never, _ever_ going to forgive you… You… _Malato CAZZO!_"

The swear echoed through the Belgian hills, and was joined with Italy's chilling shrieks as he screamed quaking laughs into Romano's face, his body quivering violently. Romano inched back slightly, eyes widening, yet he was still raging furiously. Belgium was terrified.

"Why are you wearing your uniform from World War !?" Romano asked caustiously as he noticed what Italy had been wearing.

"Don't you love it, Romano?" Italy giggled shakily, grinning very wide, "It's my old uniform! It makes me so proud… And it's blue! I absolutely adore blue… It's the color of this world…" He laughed again, and Romano noticed that he was flexing the fingers on his free hand in a peculiar way. "I've been keeping it with me," Italy continued, "As… As a reminder… A trophy…" He looked at Romano, and then frowned. "What, do you not _like it?!_" He tightened his grip on Romano's throat, digging his nails into his brother's soft skin.

Romano clawed at Italy's hand, sputtering as he tried to pry it off. "_No!_No, it's fine!" he choked.

Belgium flinched and put a hand over her mouth. She had begun to shake, unsure of what to do. She knew that if she tried to attack Italy, it might make things worse.

Italy laughed again. "Come with me, Romano," he said quietly, "Come on… Let's go play some games like we did way back before everything got so serious… Before Grandpa died…"

"I'd rather swallow a bomb," Romano spat. "You killed Spain…"

"You can forgive me though, right?!" Italy asked almost desperately, "Now you can be with me… We can play together… Be together… Brothers… My brother…" His grip got tighter and tighter.

"Ack!" Romano said, trying desperately to stop Italy's hand from crushing his trachea, "Stop it! Let go of me!"

"Italy, let go!" Belgium cried in fear.

"Please, Romano!" Italy pleaded, "Give me some respect, just once, as your brother! Stop pushing me around like some bambino!" He was screaming, eyes bulging, at this point, digging his nails deeper and deeper into Romano's throat. Romano stared up at him, now purely terrified. "DON'T DO THIS TO ME LIKE ALL THE OTHERS! RESPECT ME! PLEASE, RESPECT ME!"

He was suddenly thrown to the ground as Belgium shoved him with all her might. She grabbed hold of Romano, and as Italy was thrown down, his nails ripped through his brother's flesh. Romano yelped in pain and stumbled away to the side, blood dripping down the sides of his neck.

Belgium stumbled forward a bit, and then turned to him. "Go! Get out of here!" she screamed urgently.  
Romano was frozen, but then grabbed her hand and attempted to pull her away with him. She turned back in one brief second toward Italy, and suddenly an earsplitting _crack_rang out as Italy, now on his feet, pulled the trigger of a black pistol, shooting Belgium straight through the temple. Her body went limp and fell into Romano's arms. Romano's voice was lost, and he looked wide-eyed at the dead body of the beautiful country that had been alive not a moment ago. "No-NO!" he hastily fell to his knees, cradling the delicate body in his arms. Tears didn't have time to come to his eyes.

Italy looked at the two in utter disgust. His nose wrinkled, all he could do was snarl demonically at them, turning at once and dashing away like a frightened doe in a squall of pleasure and fear, still holding the menacing black pistol he had stolen from Germany's home.

The same storm had begun to loom in above the once beautiful Belgian countryside, but Romano didn't notice, nor did he care. He just held Belgium in his arms, shaking uncontrollably, not wanting to accept the death of yet another so important to him. He hyperventilated, his stomach filling with agonizing nausea. Tears finally came to him, but the shock was too much for him to sob. Dark red blood gushed from the hole in Belgium's left temple, streaming down her cheek and settling on her soft lips before dripping onto Romano's lap. He remembered looking up at her bright, emerald green eyes so long ago, and now he looked down at those same emerald eyes, watching the light face rapidly from them. She hadn't seemed to age a bit from when the first met, when he as a child had jokingly asked her to kiss him in Spanish. He had never gotten that kiss, and though he had matured, he wished now that he had accepted it when she complied. A great pain filled his chest as grief filled his heart yet again, and as the reality finally hit him that yet another of his loved ones was dead, he clenched his eyes shut, wrinkled his nose, and threw back his head to the somber lament of the oncoming thunder and rain once again.

_"NOOO!"_


	11. IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT

Readers:

I am terribly sorry that I haven't updated Ancient Power for some time now. I have been caught up in a lot of things lately... And it has been very stressful. My mother died this past Tuesday morning, and being only seventeen, it's been very stressful. Also, I lost my interest in Hetalia long ago, so I haven't had any motivation anyway. I still hope to continue the story, but if I do, I will be on an indefinite hiatus until the next update. I deeply apologize...

Sincerely,

Purple


End file.
